


SEMI-BUTLER

by TheSeaVoices



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 24 carat dick, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bartenders, Blindfolds, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Butlers, Butt Plugs, Cleaning, Cleaning Kink, Come Marking, Coming Untouched, Exhibitionism, Food Kink, Forniphilia, Gold Member, Groping, Grumpy Will Graham, HUGE uniform kink, Hannigram - Freeform, Human Furniture, Injections, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Servant, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, NSFW Art, Needles, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Nudity, Punishment, Rimming, Rubber gloves, Service Kink, Sewing, Size Kink, Sock Suspenders, Spanking, Uniform Kink, Voyeurism, Wet Clothing, butler fucking, chapters 11 and 12 have NSFW art, face fucking, gilding, goldicocks, great big golden dick, is it even possible to over use spanking?, led by dick, massive uniform kink, mild public humiliation, penis worship, phone voice, the Shining - Freeform, tight as fuck trousers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeaVoices/pseuds/TheSeaVoices
Summary: A modern day Master/servant Hannigram AU. This idea came to me whilst working (literally on my hands and knees applying gold leaf) in one of the extraordinary Cheshire mansions I find myself in surprisingly regularly. I am continually surprised by the inexplicably loyal staff managers (nobody ever says the word BUTLER - but they are), proudly servile and selfless.Will inherits such a property in North West England, complete with staff and an interesting sort-of-butler who enjoys his work. REALLY enjoys his work.Also inspired by Jeeves and Wooster which I'm currently re-reading and loving, and all butlers everywhere. Oh, and Men On Edge :)Currently un-beta'd, sorry. I'm intending to illustrate a few scenes as a B&W comic too.Encouragement, ideas and pointers have really helped, thanks to:@weconqueratdawn@thecountessolivia@zigzagwanderer@aviran007@zacharybosch@fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aviran007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviran007/gifts).



 

*

 

Petals parted silently in plump folds as Hannibal's fingers gracefully delved into the velvet of each rose, coaxing them slowly into fat, relaxed blooms - pale pink in the dim gloom of the hall.

Will had slept a scant amount between loops of unfinished thoughts, the shreds of his tension headache still clinging to him. He was watching from the top of the vast staircase, firstly due to puzzlement, then because he couldn't look away from the unexpected act- it felt like a private moment - something forbidden.

Shrugging off the tingling shiver on the back of his neck he continued his march down the stairs, slowing as he reached the tall vase and his preoccupied employee, “Can I ask what are you doing?”

Hannibal continued caressing the flowers for a second as he languidly turned. With an easy smile brightening his face he straightened his posture, hands placed loosely behind his back, feet together, “Good morning Sir. I'm opening these roses to release the final day of their perfume. Do you not smell it?”

For the first time Will stopped and savoured the potent fragrance that filled the space around them, it was heady with a deep warmth of roses: exotic - _it must have been this that had given him the strange feeling on the landing._

“These heads will remain tight till they wilt otherwise and you will be somewhat short changed,” Hannibal said gently to Will’s slightly upturned face: momentarily relaxed, a softness to his eyelids and mouth as he allowed the perfume in.

The eyes opened back to their defensive guard, Will awkwardly scanned over Hannibal's confident stance and detailed neatness: tall, casually well-dressed, large expensive looking watch, combed back hair - he was intimidatingly spotless. “You're employed here as a?” he paused, “ ... _staff manager_ is that right?” he asked, “Hannibal?”

“You have had a lot to absorb since yesterday,” Hannibal answered, “Yes, you are correct - my official position is that of your staff manager but my duties are very varied in the estate, if I were to list all of them we could be here for some time.”

Hannibal wore an amused expression that steadily turned more serious, “I delegate duties to your staff, oversee their activities and personally attend to a wide range of jobs. Jobs that it is my pleasure to carry out to perfection.”

Behind his glasses, Will’s focus began to slide away from Hannibal to the vase of flowers, the highly polished pier table, the slightly grotesque silver conch sculpture reflecting his face, misshapen and alien. With the reminder of his situation breaking the serene spell, he felt the sudden need to escape swell like pressure in his head, it choked out room for any remaining social politeness. He gave a slight nod, abruptly turned and left through the heavy front doors into the courtyard, leaving Hannibal to watch after him with a look of concern.

The angry speed of his walk took Will past two gardeners and a cheerful mechanic, down to the ornamental carp pond and horrendous reproduction pagoda in a short space of time. He glared at the neatly painted oriental panels and nearby bronze heron, perfectly positioned for kicking into the water.

Two weeks ago this bizarre world had nothing to do with him. His maternal uncle, whom he vaguely remembered visiting on a trip to England as a child, had left him everything in his will. The profits of a successful business in the eighties, a private estate of 300 acres in Cheshire and a fucking staff of God knows how many people.

This was just a reconnaissance Mission, he reminded himself. A month of taking stock and weighing things up before returning to West Virginia and his admittedly, no _wonderfully_ quiet life.

*

Still full of a self-loathing bitterness by the time he returned to the house, the sight of it’s utter neo-classical hugeness as he turned down the perfect gravel path trimmed with immaculate grass verge and mock Victorian streetlamps quickly removed any shred of positivity the walk had lent him. The idea of running back to attack the heron flashed into his mind.

Muttering curses under his breath, he let himself into the boot room at the back of the building past the long row of garages and the kitchen where the staff seemed to congregate.

He left his muddied footwear on the drying shelf and took a quick prowl around in his socks. This area of the house was much more modern and relaxed, conspicuously less dispiriting than the main rooms: the solid build of the original features was enhanced with well chosen contemporary stone and granite, warm woolen fabrics and upholstery - tasteful.

There were doors and staircases everywhere, what appeared to be an office. Decent artwork on the walls, a row of original servant's bells for each room on big coiled springs. Everything was kept in perfect condition, as was the rest of the house: metal was polished, sills and mouldings - dust-free. The wood stove was burning steadily, a beautifully stacked pile of split birch logs and kindling next to it.

He followed the smell of coffee to find the modernised kitchen, empty - clean as a whistle but alive with signs of life: an elegant clock ticking steadily opposite an aga covered with spotless copper pans bubbling beneath their lids.

Will was startled by a young woman appearing through one of the doors accompanied by the rhythmic thudding of a tumble dryer, she bustled through carrying a pile of freshly washed linens followed by Hannibal who caught up with her to add a couple of pillowcases on the top, “these are for the blue room,” he told her.

She gave a big smile, “Ok Hannibal.”

Feeling like he was intruding and not knowing where to stand, Will leaned oddly against the Belfast sink, “I was going to make a coffee.”

Hannibal beamed, “How do you take it?”

“Black, one sugar,” for some reason Will stopped himself from adding that he could make it himself. He shifted his posture into a more normal stance.

In a continuous flow of movement Hannibal lowered the heat on two of the pans, turned and swivelled himself through to a smaller room where he could be heard operating a loud machine before reappearing with a glorious smelling stoneware mug of swirling coffee.

Will took it and thanked him. He took a sip as he was walking out of the kitchen and stopped, he closed his eyes and mmmm’d, turned back around, “it's…”

“...Thank you Sir,” Hannibal interrupted, eyes glittering with pride.

Will’s boots were where he'd left them on the shelf but completely cleaned and stuffed with newspaper, even the laces seemed dry when he picked them up. “Oh!” He exclaimed and went back into the kitchen but Hannibal had disappeared.

*

Hannibal cleaned the coffee machine and prepped it for the next cup - just in case he needed to make one in a hurry. He was exhilarated to have achieved the two minor responses from Mr Graham. The pleasure of the coffee and ohh yesss, the surprise at the boots. He looked down at how his fingertips had suffered from the high speed scrubbing and the scald from the machine - it had been worth it, he’d really helped Mr Graham, he had _saved_ him from having to do these tasks himself.

He pressed at the scalded skin.

_He’d seemed to like the roses in the hall too_ Hannibal thought, making a mental note to order one of the gardeners to cut a fresh bunch in the morning, _maybe some lavender? No, just the roses. Perhaps he should move Mr Keating’s silver shell - it had appeared to offend Mr Graham, it could put it away in storage for now._

The clock struck ten as the gate intercom rang from the bottom of the drive. He buzzed in the electricians and took the pans off the heat.

*

Hannibal worked late more often than not. Organising various freelancers, awaiting deliveries, fixing things. He sauntered confidently through the buildings and grounds with an unhurried ease.

Whilst switching off the lights in the snug, a small book-lined room just off from the dining room, he came upon the still, curled-up form of Mr Graham asleep in a low chair. There was a golden edge of light from the fire lining his delicate profile and blending over the softness in the dark curves of his hair. His deep eye sockets shadowed in sleep rather than his usual frown, lashes darker on his cheek and his lips resting soft and parted.

Hannibal studied him carefully from above. He was younger than he first appeared and hid a real beauty and sweetness behind stubble, gruffness and unkempt hair. His sleeping face and steady breaths were fascinating.

Hannibal quietly took the empty whisky glass to the kitchen and returned to wake him but the the room was empty. He lifted and plumped the cushion on the chair - it was warm.

The electric golf cart took Hannibal almost silently down the long forest drive to the gatehouse. The gilded vision of the sleeping Mr Graham stayed with him as he ran through the security checks and retired to his bedroom. Hannibal undressed in front of the bathroom mirror. Showered efficiently, brushed his teeth, cleansed, and moisturised his face. He watched his reflection comb though his hair and turn side on to the mirror, skin sleek and body supple. He walked nude to the bedroom to slip on a pair of pyjama bottoms before entering the immaculate bed.

*


	2. Chapter 2

“Well just **leave** it then,” Will’s shout echoed down the corridor as one of the cleaners passed Hannibal, pulling a ridiculous hoover with a face on it.

“He’s grumpy again,” she laughed, “and cute!”

Hannibal raised his brows at her, knocking softly on Will’s bedroom door, “is there anything I can do?”

“ **NO**!”

“I'll instruct the staff to vacuum the other wing instead.”

“Um, thank you Hannibal.”

Hannibal closed his eyes at the use of his name, “It’s my pleasure Sir.”

*

The staff, under Hannibal’s subtle guidance, adjusted carefully to their reluctant American resident and after a few days Will had found himself less irritated by their presence.

He began to sense the system at work behind the house, more like a ship or hotel rather than a romantic novel. Centuries of these things running smoothly and the modernising of the processes. 

The estate rented out offices and luxury apartments in the grounds that more than covered running costs. His uncle had lived comfortably among his objets d’art, Enya records and decades old interior trends, just as if it were any other home.

Will also became aware of _his_ role in the system, his whims and requests were important. His tastes were considered in every decision made on the his behalf, from ordering milk to curtain pelmets.

He was becoming part of the house.

Will was still curt and minimal in his dealings with the staff, he was unable to completely relax in the house but he couldn’t deny there were advantages to living there: no more crowded grocery stores, GPS struggles, cleaning the sink trap, bills, not knowing which tradespeople to call out to fix stuff. Free time to read and walk, run, fish. The few friends and familiar faces he’d left behind were not close enough for him to miss.

He saw more and more people whose job depended on the house - on him! A chatty upholsterer delivering heavy sample books from her Altrincham shop accosted him in a corridor one afternoon, he learned, amongst other things that the household had a certain reputation for being a good place to work: fair and well run, unlike some other _nouveau riche_ mansions in Cheshire.

Everyone seemed to want to tell a tale of working in these other houses: getting locked-in by the electric gates, owners openly criticising or discussing their work like they were invisible, big parties and unpaid overtime, being shouted and screamed at. It surprised Will to hear how people were treated in these buildings that were home to one person and a workplace to another.

Several of his staff had worked for premiership footballers - Cheshire’s stately homes and estates disproportionately occupied by them, being home to several of the big clubs. The modest working-class upbringings of these new multi-millionaires tended not to prepare them for the sudden living style of the upper-classes. Some were prone to overcompensate for their own sense of awkwardness.

Will was not used to the English division of class and the aristocracy, surely it didn’t still affect people’s way of life? He noticed some of the workers in the house and grounds certainly behaved like they _were_ in a country house of old, with the same upstairs/downstairs lord and servant hierarchy, consciously or not.

His confusion on these matters didn't help the awkward social interactions and he still instinctively avoided bumping into anyone in the house, learning which rooms would be empty and when. The cell phone he had reluctantly accepted from Hannibal solved most of his questions or issues via a quick text.

The endless stretch of luxurious free time became more of a chore once the novelty wore off. Boredom began to settle like a fog, a thick feeling of frustrated pointlessness. There was a certain level of hypersensitivity Will naturally turned to when bored enough, a feeling of awareness or lucidity that could tap into people's feelings and pick up on thought processes. It had kept him amused as a child and confused as a teen.

He had already deduced that the three cleaners had a competition between themselves to get the longest conversation with him, they’d been trying to run into him on purpose. They were harmless enough, still enjoying the novelty of the house’s new owner. The gardener, a hard-working well-weathered man of over six foot was struggling with guilt over an affair that he was unwilling to break off. The cheerful housekeeper had an addiction to online shopping and several credit card debts, one of the cooks had been in prison - none of this interested Will, Hannibal though, with his outward appearance of self-contained precision, his methodical work and intelligent way of running their world was by far the most interesting person in the house it turned out.

This realisation came to him over a succession of small encounters.

*

_Texts:_

W.G: HANNIBAL! WTF IS THAT NOISE?

Hannibal: I'll be right there

W.G: It’s 8.30AM and there is a bear fight in the house 

The sound stopped. Hannibal arrived at Will’s door within minutes, took a breath and knocked. Will called him in from his seat by the window, partly lit from a gap in the still drawn curtains, he gave off a ruffled grouchy vibe - wearing a white t-shirt, boxers, a loose cotton robe and an angry expression.

Hannibal didn’t look directly at him once he’d noted his state of undress and his bare thighs, fallen wide open and highlighted by the morning sun, “The joiner has been told to take a break for an hour,” Hannibal said, “The architraves in the library needed replacing.”

“Ahhh, thank you Hannibal, that is very much appreciated.” 

Will’s intensified observation noted the slightest squirm of hips, the tiniest of movements from the usual statue stillness of Hannibal. A miniscule twitch of his top lip.

“Are you interested in any breakfast whilst I’m here?” Hannibal asked the wall.

Will’s persistent agitation calmed, he considered his usual dismissive response and decided to prolong this situation out of curiosity, “What can you suggest for me?” He leaned back very casually in the chair, intrigued by the faint flush appearing on Hannibal’s cheeks.

Hannibal looked up at the ceiling in thought, holding his elbow behind his back, “you might enjoy some of the Danish pastries I prepared last night - coffee, followed by something more substantial a little later - some sausage? Tomatoes from the orangery? Sauteed with basil leaves, smoked paprika.”

Will swallowed, that _would_ be perfect but that wasn't the point, “I don't want pastry.”

Hannibal slinked a glance over at him with a minute narrowing of his eyes, “of course Sir. Perhaps fruit?”

Will stood up slowly, rotating his shoulders one by one. He stretched his arms up high and took off his robe, flinging it onto the bed - catching the flinch it caused, “Would you put that in the laundry for me?” 

“Certainly,” Hannibal bent gracefully to gather the crumpled robe from the bed, he folded it in half lengthwise and draped it over his arm - it was body warm and released a waft of Will’s bed infused scent. 

“Not just fruit on its own,” Will told him, “surprise me.” He felt the fevered need to please grow stronger in Hannibal. It appeared that he genuinely wanted to serve him - more than his job dictated, in fact he seemed unable to speak as he left the room.

He returned ten minutes later with a napkin covered tray, “Warm caramelised apricots with cardamom and mascarpone.”

“Hannibal?” Will asked, taking the tray and inhaling the sweet fragrant steam as he lifted the napkin. 

“Sir?”

“Do you ever feel you are like an old fashioned butler here?” Will smiled.

Hannibal took the napkin from him and returned the smile, “I suppose I do, it’s not strictly true but… perhaps some kind of _semi-butler_?”

*


	3. Chapter 3

“What the fffff?...” Will exclaimed, nearly tripping over the kneeling figure of Hannibal in the morning room.

He was obscured in the shadows, as close to the floor as it was possible to be, filling in the chips in the skirting board from a tin of Farrow and Ball’s Pointing White. He’d removed his usual black sweater and rolled his shirt sleeves past his elbows, rear up in the air with one shoulder twisted onto the floor and a steady hand.

Will’s eyes flicked to the taut fabric of Hannibal's trousers across his ass and thighs, the sight was thrilling past the initial surprise - to see his stately manager so extremely low down and in such a position, completely vulnerable - exposed.

Hannibal managed to turn his face towards him, looking over his shoulder whilst staying in position. His accent more pronounced with the restriction of his throat, “I'll be out of your way in a minute, just a couple more spots.” He continued the task steadily, Will still astride him - watching as if he had a special interest in skirting maintenance rather than the way Hannibal was swallowing in concentration, sucking in his bottom lip, his teeth showing in a slight snarl.

*

Observing Hannibal in the house and grounds became addictive for Will, he couldn’t get enough of it. He began asking for Hannibal to bring things to him rather than fetch them himself, luxuriating in Hannibal’s pleasure to be of use. Will would _accidentally_ follow him into a room just to witness whatever very important task he was concentrating on: taking nourishment from the graceful movements and confidence.

He stood unseen in the doorway of the library a few days after the skirting board incident, watching and processing a revelation of Hannibal’s hidden strength as he helped two joiners to shift a monstrous antique desk with ornately carved gilded eagles for legs and green Italian marble base.

He seemed to have a familiar accord with the larger, older men, men who were calmly used to heavy lifting: letting the other catch up, maintaining an even distribution of weight, swearing. As the desk was lifted clear of the dust sheets there was a moment when Hannibal had to take the brunt of it, his hands and forearms yielding veins with the increased grip, back and shoulders revealing strongly defined muscles beneath his shirt, his neck tense and teeth gritted. Will flushed as he became aware that he was gawping at this physical display.

Later that day, irritated and frustrated, Will stomped into the main hall, “ **Hannibal**? Where's my jacket? I left it right here.”

Hannibal appeared from a doorway, “Here it is Sir, I had it downstairs for a clean.”

Will glared at him, rudely snatching the coat. Hannibal stood very upright, holding his breath as Will noticed the nearly invisible repair, expression defrosting for a second - returning the softness to his features that Hannibal had seen as he slept, “Oh, you've mended the tear?”

“Yes, it was no trouble.”

Will glanced up from the coat to see Hannibal swiftly and discretely rearranging himself in his trousers - disguising the move as pulling down the hem of his sweater. Narrowing his eyes Will instinctively heard himself saying in a slow deliberate voice, “Do the same to my wax jacket would you? It got caught on a nail yesterday.”

Hannibal tilted his head slightly as he looked at Will, “Of course Sir, I'll see to it immediately.”

Once Will closed the front door behind himself Hannibal dipped into the hall bathroom and leaned against the counter. He pressed one hand against the front of his trousers, allowing himself this moment to feel the hardening of his cock, the thrum of his pulse and the heat there. _What was he doing?_ He looked up at his clear reflection behind the pristine ceramic of the wide sink, breathing through his mouth.

*

Will returned from his walk through the woods - the still warm air of the October morning had flowed freely into his lungs and over his face like breath, the beauty of the trees and brambles in the wilder, untended parts of the grounds were invigorating. His mind kept returning to Hannibal’s arousal in the hall and a flash of him fingering the rose petals that first morning - it was the sensuality that had struck him he realised. Hannibal’s graceful fingers and general way of moving, together with that impressive physical strength and utter obedience was such a powerfully compelling combination, it enticed Will’s buried feelings of sexuality to the surface and appealed to his bruised loss of control.

Refreshed and filled with a sense of horny mischief, he entered the building through the front entrance this time, a bit of a devious plan forming as he opened the heavy carved door without removing his boots first. He stifled a bit of a smirk as he pointedly walked fresh, filthy footprints across the immaculate parquet floor. The pleasure in sullying the perfection of the house was exquisite: clumps of thick, dark mud spread beneath each step and pushed into the skinny gaps between the wood, small leaves and blades of grass clinging to it here and there.

_Texts:_

W.G: There are dirty footprints in the hall

Hannibal: ok, I’ll see to it after I’ve got this shelf fixed

W.G: See to it now, the hall is a mess!

Will sat with legs outstretched, waiting on the padded couch concealed on the other side of the staircase - calmly listening to the nearing sounds of Hannibal slopping a sponge onto the floor, rinsing it over and over on each footprint in the trail, some kind of tool was being used to methodically scrape out the buried dirt and a tin of wax perhaps? To work over the dried patches.

When Hannibal finally crawled his way around, pushing the wheeled bucket and cloths to the short stretch of corridor in sight of Will he was panting with the effort, hair loose in his face, hands sudsy with brown bubbles. He tilted his eyes up to his employer with a frown of confusion. Will waited without speaking for the realisation to form. He smiled sweetly at Hannibal as he twisted a finger through the edge of his jacket, thoroughly enjoying the sight of him selflessly serving - kneeling and wet.

Hannibal got such a jolt of fear as he turned the corner to see Will, his heartbeat increased immediately and his blush of exertion deepened. He was not expecting this premeditated encounter or the appeal of finding himself in such a purposely humiliating position in front of the self-satisfied, handsome face of the new owner. Mr Graham was enjoying this, he had created this situation.

_**He knew!** _

Will saw the awareness wordlessly dawn on Hannibal's expression before being wiped back to neutral. He knew he got off on this, there was never a doubt. Nodding towards the remaining footprints leading up to where he was sat he purposefully uncrossed his ankles.

Hannibal worked his way nearer.

He was complicit now, scrubbing steadily - returning the floor to the perfection it deserved.

He reached Will’s soiled boots and looked up at him, “May I?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal unknotted each soaked bootlace and levered the boots from Will’s feet, placing them soundlessly on yesterday’s folded newspaper from his kit. “I’ll have them cleaned for you.”

Will leaned towards him and lowered his mouth close to the warmth of his ear, “Thank you Hannibal.”

He stood and walked off, leaving Hannibal kneeling on the glistening floor gathering the cleaning supplies and boots with a continuous shiver of pleasure slinking down his spine, semi-hard cock in his pants.


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal was repairing the scrapes and knocks on the ornate picture frames on one of the landings.

The gold leaf fluttered like delicate moth wings as Hannibal caressed the tip of the gilding brush to the carved frame. The glint of it shining from the multitude of angles reflected yellow lights on Hannibal's face and eyes narrowed in concentration, it was magical. 

Will was watching again, from his doorway transfixed by the skill and patience, “Is it real gold?” He asked.

Without turning to face him Hannibal replied, “Twenty three point five carat, pure gold leaf, by Wrights of Lymm, goldbeating experts, just down the road. These squares are so finely beaten you would have to lay two hundred and fifty thousand on top of each other to make it one inch thick.”

Will gave a long whistle, “How does it stay on?” he asked.

“I've painted these gaps with adhesive size and allowed to dry to a slight tackiness. The leaf floats onto the sticky surface and moulds around every contour. I’ll burnish then protect with a coat of shellac.” Hannibal replied. “I prefer to order this carat leaf for the house as it can also be used for culinary purposes”

“It’s edible?”

“Pure gold is chemically inert, as is the tiny percentage of silver present. You could eat as much as you liked - if you ever fancied it Mr Graham.”

“Fascinating,” Will replied

*

Jane, a local girl in her early twenties made an extra effort to thrust out her behind and kick out a foot as she stretched over the dining table with the yellow duster, a coy glance back over her shoulder at Mr Graham who had finally shown some interest. Or at least he’d seemed to before turning his scrutiny and beautiful face towards her superior Janet - a scrawny lady in her late fifties with lank hair and tired eyes, currently and inelegantly catching cobwebs on the end of a long handled brush - Will smiled deviously at Janet’s sagging chest as Jane scowled from the table in a heap.

On Sundays Hannibal tended to take an afternoon off but still liked to be on hand just in case.

“The cleaners’ new tabards are striking, Hannibal. Janet told me that they are all your doing?”

Hannibal folded up his newspaper as Will strolled into his small office across from the kitchen, “I like to sew. A little piping, some adjustable side fastenings. It wasn’t much.”

“They’re _very_ well done - impressive. I was thinking that it might be an idea if you had a uniform yourself- nothing official or too formal - more of a... semi-uniform,” Will gave Hannibal a mischievous smile. “Get the fabric guys to come back with some samples for me.”

The next afternoon Will called Hannibal into the study area of the library. He was waiting with an air of excitement at the huge carved eagle desk, he’d whittled the sample books down to three sets of darkly coloured fabrics: one of hard-wearing work fabrics - light canvas, moleskin and heavy cotton, one of silks and velvets and one of lightweight cotton jersey knits. He methodically spread the squares of fabric out all over the desktop. Hannibal approached and felt all of the samples between his fingers. He stopped at the jersey knits and stretched them, he put his hand underneath and pulled the fabric over it - it was quite silky and elastic, fitting the form of his hand, elegant knuckles and fingers clearly visible, flexing them he said, “some of these are very lightweight, are they for a kind of t-shirt?”

Will stroked a couple of pieces of velvet, he lifted and dropped a soft square of the brushed jersey, it had a slight sheen to it, “I was thinking more for the trousers.”

Hannibal met his eyes with a twitch of a smile, “not the most practical choice Sir,” he glanced back at the canvas work swatches and seemed to be thinking through a response. “It would be very comfortable though, allow for movement and so on.”

“Good. Send these back when you order and make as many pairs as you think you’ll need.”

*

Will sent Hannibal back to his sewing machine twice before he was satisfied with the fit.

When he got the first text he immediately called Hannibal into the library, it was Will’s favourite room in the house, the tall windows with views through through the endless lawn bathed the desk-end of the room in sunlight that never quite reached the bookshelves, ending in a bright rectangle of effort mid-way down the wool carpet.

Hannibal didn’t quite sashay into the room but there was a hint of runway about him as he reached the desk, stopped and stood very properly. Will rose from the leather chair and strolled round to the front of the desk admiring the exquisite navy waistcoat made from the velvet and a dove grey silk for the back, worn over Hannibal’s usual white shirt. His neat, classically fitted trousers were in a dark slate grey, tailored from the very unsuitable jersey cotton, at first glance they appeared normal, the slight surface sheen deflected the soft texture but the fabric clung to his body like liquid.

 *

Will circled Hannibal with a slow, scrutinising pace: he was _quite_ the specimen: proud profile, finely shaped lips curving beautifully from beneath his handsome nose, confident posture - shoulders back yet relaxed, the strength that Will had secretly witnessed on show now without a sweater - solid chest and upper arms, _my God_ \- his long, lean thighs and round ass were incredible.

The waistcoat was the perfect shade for his colouring - the rich blue defined tanned skin and complemented silvered blond hair darkened with slicked pomade, Will looked very closely at the beautifully made clothes. Raised an eyebrow, “May I?” he repeated with the same tone that Hannibal had used to remove his boots.

“Yes.”

Will reached straight for the upper arms and lifted them, obediently Hannibal smoothly continued the move till they were held up straight either side of his head. He smelled of brand new fabric and his usual, clean sting of tomato-vine and beeswax - something lightly exotic and expensive lingering beneath. He was totally still in the silent library.

Will selfishly indulged in stroking both his hands steadily down Hannibal's sides: he'd picked up on Hannibal's desire to be objectified and that suited him fine. Casting all thoughts of the other man’s feelings or the situation aside was remarkably easy once he'd decided to. Touching his semi-butler after the days of longing was making his heart thud in his chest.

The velvet warmed to the touch as he pressed it nearer to Hannibal's body with firm strokes - it was luxurious. When his hands reached the end of the waistcoat he clutched a hard yank that unbalanced Hannibal for a second before he righted himself. Will placed one hand flat on the yielding softness low on Hannibal's middle - feeling it rise and fall with his quickening breath beneath the row of buttons, he placed his other hand on the small of his back where Hannibal had attached a rear cinch and buckle. He pressed his hands towards each other, squeezing Hannibal and rubbing the fabric back and to in opposite directions - there was of course no actual purpose to this particular move other than the freedom of being able to do whatever he pleased and the thrill of touching Hannibal. He lowered the arms halfway like outstretched wings.

Having _tested_ the waistcoat, both of them knowing that this was much more than a uniform inspection, Will bent slowly lower and moved onto the trousers. Again he savoured the freedom of touching him however he liked while Hannibal obediently maintained his stiff arm position. 

Will reached out very purposefully and bunched up soft handfuls of material at each side of Hannibal's hips, twisted it - reducing the front area of his trousers by a good three or four inches, rudely revealing the bulge of his balls and hardening cock. Will pulled the fabric firm and slow to the left then right, up and down. Hannibal was semi erect, still pliant enough to squish about within his loose underwear but there was a pleasing thickened weight and density, manipulated by the movement of the trousers his dick became caught in the looped folds of cotton and purposely jostled and nudged around, making Hannibal emit an involuntary short gasp as he looked straight ahead. 

Will ignored the sound, staring hotly at the remarkably pleasing sight before him he flopped Hannibal's fattened cock forward by trapping the head in a fold of cotton, rolling it upwards to make the thick flesh double up on itself before being forced to flick out. He did the same with his balls, lifting them in a little hammock of cloth to jiggle them from side to side - _absolutely brazen_.

The material was released as he moved round to the back, it slunk easily back into a looser drape although the large growing hard-on in the front was pushing the shape out a tad. Will was tingling with the thrill of it, he held himself back once he was out of sight, stretched his fingers greedily, keeping hannibal waiting for his touch. God - he just wanted to grab that tempting roundness in front of him and shove Hannibal to the ground - it was irresistible - _he was irresistible._ Will had been alone for two years - this charged experience, in England of all places, in a big old freaky mansion with quite the most beautiful, desirable man he’d ever seen... 

He hovered his hands untouching over Hannibal’s cheeks - prominently, evocatively rounded out from the cinched in waistcoat, the lightweight cotton releasing the body heat within. A glance up towards Hannibal’s wrists revealed goosebumps covering his skin and a shake to his arm hold, he had closed his eyes. 

After giving himself another long couple of seconds delay Will pressed his hands solidly to Hannibal, fingers automatically squeezing inward - assuredly cupping the shape of him. They both huffed out a gasp of held-in breath - Will gripped hard and pressed nearer to to his back, not quite bodily contact but so close, he rotated both hands in mirrored circular movements, lifting, parting and releasing hannibal’s ass cheeks over and over, pushing, sliding his fingertips into the horizontal crease at the top of his thighs, squeezing - taking pleasure in grabbing what he wanted, hard.

He let go and stroked the fabric surface a few times soothingly before suddenly grabbing a bundle and hoisting it wedgie-high up his crack, there was a slight tearing noise like some stitching had been pulled out and hannibal was forced onto his toes. Will yanked the fabric from side to side, “ **tighten this** ,” He said deeply, leaning his jaw into Hannibal’s neck, lips next to his ear. He kept the tension as he removed one hand, reached round to the front and clutching a handful of cloth and hot solid dick hissed, “ **and all this**.”

Will released him with a shake and made himself leave the room with a steady pace, flushed and breathless. It was worth drawing this out for the additional kick of leaving Hannibal in such a state. He rigorously jerked off in his bathroom to the thought of Hannibal standing there alone, slowly lowering his arms, panting, shocked and hard as fuck.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Will received the second text whilst he was outside. He'd taken to hiding in the garden pagoda with his notebook - privately watching things go by without any disturbances. Upon summoning Hannibal to join him, his natural agitation and frustration immediately slid into a satisfying calm. The controlled confidence he'd found himself experiencing in these interactions with his _semi-butler was_ excellent, it was simple and _definitely_ best not to try and unravel the construct in his mind.

Hannibal bee-lined across the lawn towards him, obeying the text immediately after making sure he had a lighter as requested. The clouded grey light of the Northern sky unable to lessen his sleek elegance. He entered the pagoda and effortlessly held out the lit Dupont lighter for Will’s cigarette before either of them spoke.

Leaning right back Will sucked a deep drag and took a long study of _his man_. The broad shoulders and chest, softening middle around a still slim waist, the curving quadriceps of the thighs, shapely calves and glossy lustre of polished Oxfords. Will exhaled his smoke over the body in front of him. It dissipated quickly in the faint breeze, licking upwards around the contours of cheeks, nostrils, brow.

Hannibal was silhouetted against the muted sky beyond the open doorway. Presented for Will’s approval. His trousers expertly adjusted as requested - the outline of his soft cock and balls very obvious in side-on light. This inappropriate inspection turned decadent by the outdoor location and the smoking.

Maintaining his casual slouch Will nodded his head towards the storm lantern hanging from the ceiling and took another drag of his cigarette, ‘Light that too,’ he instructed.

Hannibal was just about tall enough to open the hinged glass door of the lantern but couldn’t quite reach the three fat candles inside. He looked around and started to reach for the wooden stool next to Will, as he was about to pick it up Will stuck his feet heavily onto the bottom rung keeping eye contact as he flicked his ash onto the floorboards.

Hannibal resisted looking at the ash, he smiled and tilted his head. Turning back towards Will, he stretched up to the lantern high on his toes, one hand steadying the base whilst trying to reach the wicks with his other.

Will rose from the bench and approached him, whilst Hannibal was preoccupied with his task Will sharply untucked the white shirt and rolled it tightly over itself till Hannibal’s stretched midriff was exposed beneath the bottom of the waistcoat. He trailed the fingers of his cigarette hand through the fluffy hair on Hannibal’s stomach and over the soft vulnerable skin of his sides, all the way round, past the dimples of his back, the curve of his spine - it made the skin shiver and prickle.

“Shorten the shirt,” he said. Leaving it raised over goosebumped flesh he skimmed both hands down Hannibal’s hips to flatten the front of the trousers against the outline of hardening dick. Will opened his lips, sighing at the sight of it, the whole sight of him obeying, serving, loving it.

“Don’t you think that's a good idea Hannibal?” he breathed.

Hannibal nodded slowly, he twitched a smile, “It can be arranged.”

Will was far too tempted to just yank down Hannibal’s pants and touch him properly - get a firm hot hold and see everything, his fingers twitched to do it, the fabric was so stretchy - it would be easy. With another drag of smoke, Will stepped himself away, back to the bench. Hannibal completed the lighting of the candles and closed the lantern door. He was taking deep breaths and his face flushed deeper pink as he took in the sight of Will blatantly gazing through half closed eyes directly at his loaded dick like he wanted to devour it. He felt like he was there solely to provide satisfaction for Mr Graham and was prepared to do pretty much anything to fulfill it.

“Shorten the shirt. Anything else?” Hannibal asked softly.

Will lifted his eyes reluctantly up from groin level, swallowed and said, “Tighten the trousers.”

*

The third text message:

Hannibal: I’ve completed my uniform

W.G: thank you Hannibal.

Hannibal: Do you wish to inspect it?

W.G: not right now.

Hannibal smiled at his phone. Mr Graham was _quite, quite impossible_. Rightly so.

Hannibal quickly and more than a little regrettably adjusted his schedule _not_ to involve some kind of bizarre encounter with his employer and prepared to continue his usual Thursday afternoon routine of clock-winding, brass-polishing and indoor-plant maintenance .

The largest clock, a hideously lacquered, longcase Ellicott was positioned in the hall. Hannibal opened out his small stepladder, smoothly inserted the correct key and began to carefully wind. He was jolted from the methodical motion by the sound of the front door bursting open with a gasp of wind and the flapping of a raincoat.

“Oh Hannibal, got a bit caught in the rain there. Don't stop on my account,” Will said. He strolled over to the clock. Hannibal looked down over his shoulder at him but Will didn't meet his eyes, he was in fact looking nowhere near Hannibal's eyes.

Will had stopped in the centre of the hall while Hannibal leaned over the clock on his ladder winding the key, his cropped shirt lifting to reveal a vulnerable ring of exposed skin around his waist. His pants obscenely tight and clingy - riding right up between his tensed ass cheeks.

“You added piping?” Will asked with approval “I like it.” His eyes tracked the thin contrasting line of grey lining the outer curves of Hannibal’s leg.

Hannibal stilled and swivelled round to face him, “You mentioned it on the tabards so I thought it might also work well on my uniform Sir.”

“Yes. Well done.” Will praised, noting the pleasure the comment caused. “I've soaked rain all over the floor here, do you have a cloth with you?”

Hannibal closed the clock and climbed down to his kit. Thighs stretching the trousers to their limit with each step. He fished out a roll of kitchen towel and proceeded to lower himself to his hands and knees to mop up the small drops on the wood, it didn't take long but Will interrupted before he could stand up, “You’ll need to get _right_ under the table Hannibal.”

Will stepped closer, his drenched curls dripping cold points of contact onto Hannibal’s lowering upper body, the silk-wrapped ass lifted high between Will’s legs, the handsome bend of his back exposed with the short shirt. “Get right in there Hannibal,” Will hissed at him.

Hannibal audibly moaned at the words and lowered his head to the floor, arms stretching to reach the perfectly dry wood beneath the console table. In the space of a few words from Will, this usually dignified, perfectly professional, self-contained man had laid himself stretched and low on the floor beneath his employer.

“Are you wearing any underwear?” Will asked close to his ear.

“No Sir.”

There was silence apart from the ticking of the clock.

Then:

_SSSWAT!_

Will smacked him once, hard and sharp on his presented ass.

Hannibal gasped loudly as he flattened to the parquetry, Will’s retreating footsteps pounding vibrations into his ear.

When he stretched down his pants in the bathroom mirror he gasped once more at the sight of a single, stinging red handprint on his quivering skin.


	6. Chapter 6

Helplessly turned on, Hannibal gathered his things and continued his tasks, glad of the fact the rest of the staff were only garden based that afternoon. Twelve more clocks were wound. Will appeared randomly from unexpected doorways always keeping Hannibal guessing - and not for every clock. He’d find a place to sit or lean just to watch him without a word. It was disconcerting and meant that he could never quite relax into his tasks as he normally did - he felt hyper-aware of what he must look like in the soft trousers and little shirt, everything was wobbling around as he moved - his dick altering from various turgid states as feelings intensified or died down. The decision to go without underwear had been made when he thought there would be a private ‘uniform inspection’, not necessarily a normal working routine.

He was joined by Will in the Orangery as he watered the citrus trees and palms with the sprinkler hose. Large paned windows lined the south facing wall and together with the glass roof panels provided an indoor garden room of cool daylight muted by old glass and filtered by large green fronds. Mr Keating had the room renovated to host drinks parties hoping to woo potential clients, there was an outdated though fully stocked cocktail bar but there had only been three such events. The underfloor heating was kept running purely to keep the plants alive.

Will hadn’t been in this room since his first wide-eyed tour, he’d followed Hannibal here through the house and delayed before entering. It was humid and crowded with big healthy looking plants, there was a lush herb and salad section, a central fountain, hanging wire baskets brought in from outside for the winter, the place was thriving.

Will settled at the bar to indulge in the performance of Hannibal’s fluid movements around the room. He was clearly used to the space and the familiar choreography of watering the different levels. His sleeves were rolled up over strong elegant forearms, face relaxed - he appeared less affected by Will’s presence here than he had in the main building.

Hannibal always relished the plant upkeep in the sultry atmosphere of the glass house. He was efficient yes, but tended to take longer than strictly necessary here - treating it like the equivalent of his break. He waited till all the watering was methodically completed before approaching Will.

He pulled on a long linen waist apron and tied it at the back, “You’re all set up for cocktails if you happen to fancy something,” he said placing himself in position of bartender, even wiping the condensation from the surface of the counter with a flourish.

Will was pleased with Hannibal’s lack of self consciousness and the way he wasn't directly mentioning their blossoming situation - he wasn't acting an empty role play, he was genuinely serving him. Will laughed. “Do you have any Bourbon?”

“ _Of course Sir_. Old Forester?”

Will jumped down from the high padded stool and returned with a pungent handful of fresh mint. He raised his eyebrows at Hannibal and put it on the counter.

Hannibal grinned at him, “Just a moment.” He walked round to the front of the bar and leaned right over Will’s lap to pluck a small lemon growing low on the tree behind. Their proximity raised the hairs on the back of Will’s neck, he could smell the warm sheen of sweat from Hannibal’s skin. The lemon was tossed up into the air and caught neatly before being placed on the marble and wedged with a knife singing with sharpness. Hannibal picked a thick crystal tumblr and ran the lemon all round the edge, flicked open the lid of a hinged glass jar full of brown sugar spiked with sliced vanilla pods and tapped some into a saucer before thoroughly rimming the glass with it. He tipped the sugar into the glass with nearly all the mint and pressed it with a wooden muddler, added a large measure of bourbon and plenty of crushed ice, stirred.

He took the remaining sprig of mint and clapped it loudly between his hands, locking eyes with a smile to Will at the sound. He poked it through the ice next to a stiff clear straw and slid it over.

Will sucked hard at his drink, swirled and savoured the flavours and the burn, “I’m impressed Hannibal. Despite no metal cup.”

Hannibal smiled down at the counter as he wiped it. “I’ll order some in,” he said.

*

Will brushed past a fern as he wandered over to the windows with his cocktail. He gazed outside to the dusk of the garden, smiling as he refocused to the glass window and tapped it, “The outside of these could do with a bit of a clean do you you think?”

Turning round he saw that Hannibal had already started to fill a metal tub from the small sink behind the bar, he proceeded to carry it outside through the orangery door and put it down on the gravel on the other side of the _dirty_ window.

They stood for a moment, dilated pupils and flushed faces meeting opposite each other like reflections. ‘ _Take the apron off_ ’ Will silently mouthed through the glass with a gesture at Hannibal, who undid the ties at his back, folded and placed the apron onto a stone birdbath. Will sipped his straw through a grin of white teeth and nodded, feeling tipsy and indulged, eyes bright. He tapped a slight smudge on the lowest pane and Hannibal dutifully doused it with the soapy sponge. Will tapped higher and Hannibal repeated the soaping, higher, then again till the whole window measuring the same length of Hannibal’s body was completely wet. Will took a big sip from the sugared edge of the crystal glass and stepped back slowly, considering the highest pane of glass and licking his lips in a decidedly flirty manner, he pointed very high with his straw and mimed a scrubbing move.

Hannibal felt a rush of adrenalin: he’d guessed the scheme. He bit his lower lip and pressed his whole body to the wet surface between them. He began to scrub the window, cock unhindered to squeak vigorously from side to side on the glass as his hips shimmied in counterpoint to his arm. The surface would have been cold but for the hot water and without underwear the thin fabric of his trousers absorbed the liquid immediately. He tilted his head to one side, watching Will rather than the sponge - the friction, the thrill of carrying out such a humiliating task but mainly the way his boss was gawping at his wet dick was making him harder by the second.

The sponge oozed water down his sleeve and trailed ribbons round his arm, Hannibal stopped for a minute and took his sopping velvet waistcoat off before pushing himself back at a delighted Will, adding a touch more grind into his moves as his shirt lifted further up his body with every swish - it soaked clear through to his nipples - stimulating them to hardness, stiffening them as they rubbed against the surface - yet the pleasure was still more about Will’s reaction than his own.

The cocktail was punchy and delicious and very boozy, Will was enjoying it as much as he’d enjoyed watching Hannibal skilfully prepare it for him. He was quite something - the display in front of him was magnificent: all squishy cock and tummy and chest, beautiful mouth and face full of desire. The soft trouser fabric clung to every contour like it was painted onto Hannibal's cock and balls, they were drenched and glistening, misshapen and slipping about sloppily. The soap had worked through the weave of the fabric lubricating everything. The glossy rim of his cock-head solidly defined, the thick shaft - it was a fat fucking masterpiece and Will was in awe.

The white shirt turned see-through - revealing dark chest hair and Hannibal's reddened nipples and pecs amongst the suds. It clung tightly round his biceps bulging their definition. It lifted over his belly, his tummy pale where the skin was buttered to the glass, bubbles in his body hair.

Hannibal’s _window-cleaning_ shifted down a gear or two, less frenzied - more of a slinky dip and roll move.

Will stepped closer, the glass between them the only thing stopping their direct contact, he put his hand over the soapy dick activity, slid down to kneel, legs wide apart on the floor, arched so that his face was level with it, lips half open and eyes dark with heat.

He was so close, just the thickness of the glass between him and the large, sopping wet, erect cock of his manager - trapped downwards by the window but with a coiled readiness to boing out and whip up with every slippy near-escape and slide of sudsy silk - he could hear it flubbing, swishing, squeaking. Will moved his hand down to grab his own hardness through his trousers, stuck out his tongue and pressed it to the vibrations on the window. He opened his eyes and looked up at Hannibal through his lashes, Hannibal moaned loudly in the silence of the garden and thrust himself over and over at the beautiful upturned face stuck against him, the shape of want from that erotic, longing mouth and tongue pressed lewdly wet onto the steamed glass. He felt his orgasm pulling up from the back of his thighs and deep behind his balls, the lubricated rubbing, pants planted tight up the crack of his ass, all that friction and exhibitionism - he was holding back - balls pulled up tight - he shouldn't, _he shouldn't_ , he…

Will blinked slowly, wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist, stood abruptly and placed his tumbler shakily on the counter. Hannibal stilled his movements and forced a stuttering halt to the pursuit of his release - his mind holding back a battering ram from smashing through wood. He heaved out a growl, panting, watching Will inside the building tapping at his empty cocktail glass, _did he want him to come in it?_ Hannibal picked up the clothing and tub of water and returned inside extremely dishevelled.

“Wash this for me would you h - Hannibal? I’m done here,” Will said, allowing himself one quick glimpse at Hannibal’s huge, wet, straining, full erection bobbing scandalously in the useless trousers before fixing his eyes above his neck.

“Yes Sir,” Hannibal gasped and bent carefully to place the sloshing bowl of dirty water on the floor.

He dutifully washed and rinsed Will’s glass in the sink, wet clothing clinging to the front of his his body, fingertips puckered, shirt-coated chest swelling with heavy breaths. He was obedient to Will’s request - decades of conditioning allowed him to shuffle his own needs to the background, albeit a new and more intimate scenario than any of his previous experiences.

Will came up behind him draping his jacket over hannibal’s broad, cooling shoulders before leaving for the privacy of his bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> definitely influenced by [Garter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202994) by [Whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite) and [drinkbloodlikewine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine) A must read timestamp - can be read on its own too, SO GOOD.

The stack of unopened invitations in heavyweight envelopes of cream and luxury pearl paper was growing steadily larger on Will’s desk. The local millionnaires wanted his story? His time? He didn’t understand what they were so interested in. He’d been told of various magazine articles speculating on his background, a couple of fuzzy photographs and lazy journalism. Hannibal had to give his excuses to a couple of callers, asking him to one of the seemingly endless streams of charity balls - _**balls**? Who did they think they were? _ There were already several hideous auction winnings dotted about the house that his uncle had no doubt been pressured into bidding on: signed guitars and movie posters, football shirts, a life-size model elephant and truly terrible paintings.

Will had slept well, the frenzy of body-lotion-lubricated tugging hadn’t taken very long to bring a messy conclusion to yesterday’s evening of escalating desire for his semi-butler, all over the bedspread - no time even to prepare a wad of tissue - His near photographic memory providing all the perfect imagery of the trousers, the stretching, Hannibal’s body, his massive sopping wet penis…

Biting his lip at the thought he summoned Hannibal to his room with a text. He’d decided he should probably attend at least one function to put an end to the curiosity.

Hannibal removed the mid length jacket he used to modify his uniform when moving round the house and knocked on the bedroom door. Entering on Will’s invitation, he inhaled the atmosphere in the room like a connoisseur - eyes narrowing at the crumpled sheets.

C _ould he detect the smell of masturbation_? Will thought, enjoying the implications. He was finding it difficult to look at him in that tight uniform without becoming hot and almost instantly aroused - _fuck, it was obscene._

“Good morning Sir, restful night’s sleep?” Hannibal had the barest hint of a smile but was otherwise acting as if he wasn’t bursting out of his clothes and hadn’t been recently displayed before his employer - soaked to the skin, desperately sliding himself about to please him.

“Yes thank you Hannibal, perhaps a change of sheets if you would before I settle this other business with you,” Will said gesturing at his unwanted invitations.

Hannibal had been arranging for the housekeeping staff to prepare Mr Graham’s bedding in the mahogany armoire outside his room - a complete set of feather pillows daily sheathed in fresh slips, a lightweight duvet ready covered, a clean bedspread and under sheet. He liked to see to his bed personally and simply swapped the bedding into a laundry bag in the cupboard.

Hannibal stretched himself across the super-king-size bed to undo the soiled sheet, his legs taut and wide apart, shirt lifting high and rear end purposefully towards Will.

“Wait!” Will said quietly, “Come and open the curtains first.”

Hannibal immediately stilled at Will’s command before pushing up from the bed and striding over to the window and desk where his employer sat - blatantly tracking every jiggly movement.

The heavy curtains were swung open via side pulls and secured with oversized silk cord tassels, Hannibal leaning over the desk above Will’s head, inches away from touching. The room was suddenly in daylight and Hannibal returned to the bed much more visible to Will.

“Better now Sir?” Hannibal asked, “Can you see things clearer?”

Scanning quickly up the length of Hannibal’s body: spotlit before him in the sunlight. Will said, “continue,” and tipped his head towards the bed.

In the bloom of new light, Hannibal elegantly lifted and wafted the fresh sheets and covers billowing into the air, allowing gravity to lay them where he wanted - stroking them smooth with his hands, creating perfection from the chaos of Will’s bed. His face showed little emotion other than an occasional minute furrow of concentration, Will felt all of that calming inner pleasure it gave him to bring order to the bed and service to Will.

Silhouetted by the window, he leisurely savoured the sight of Hannibal kneeling to tuck the sheets into the corners of the vast bed, crawling, cat-like and somehow gracefully on his knees to each. His shirt lifted to reveal the smooth skin of his lower back and sides, it pulled tight around his arms. Hips swaying, trousers inching further up his calves with the friction, legs defined with the highlight of piping, dark grey silk socks pulled high, held in place with black elastic sock suspenders below the knee.

A shuddery exhale sounded from Will, eyes widening to absorb this new stimulation - _fucking sock suspenders?_

Hannibal hid a smile at the noise. He’d had a fitful night’s sleep after the relentless edging of the previous afternoon and Mr Graham’s torturous teasing in the orangery. He hadn’t finished the job himself as it unmistakably smelt like here. The prolonged pursuit of release had been trickling steadily through every move he made in Mr Graham’s presence and he felt a touch of satisfaction for choosing to wear the suspenders that morning. His ingenuity would perhaps work in his favour.

The flesh bulged appealingly around the tight, contrasting straps and leather hexagon shape where the clip attached. Hannibal twisted from the shoulders and looked back towards Will, “Sir?” he asked, not pushing the ‘naivety’ too much.

“Jesus Christ Hannibal!” Will said, “your ffffucking u-uniform?”

“My apologies, I will try to be more careful,” he replied, smoothing the trouser legs back over the socks and elegantly completing the perfection of the bed. He approached the window slowly and stood in front of Will once it was complete, very obviously aroused, the full daylight highlighting his semi-hard dick above the curves of his long thighs and shapely, secretly banded calves.

Regardless of the charged atmosphere, Will carried on with his original plan to try to arrange some kind of reply to the invitations - he gestured casually at the piles of envelopes on his desk despite his overly controlled voice, “We’re going to have to do something about this lot - I just don't know the best course of action. Do you have any ideas?”

Starting to speak, hannibal leaned over the desk to take a closer look. Will pushed himself up to stand behind him, “May I?” he interrupted.

“Sir?”

“I was wondering how the uniform was holding up.”

“Of course.” Hannibal moved to straighten but a confident hand in the small of his back pressed him back down to his bent position.

Will tightened the cinched buckle on the waistcoat a slight, meaningless amount then slid his arms round to the deeply breathing chest and stroked slowly down Hannibal’s still body to his waistband - his own loose jogging trousers close but not touching. “Continue what you were about to say,” he said reasonably as if he were still seated, almost pretending he was.

Hannibal found himself vulnerably exposed and almost embraced simultaneously, that very forward move of the hand pressing him low had flooded him with desire; the presumptiveness; the ownership!

As Will continued stroking, all the way to hip bones and softly defined V of abdominals Hannibal shuffled the envelopes and began to explain to Will who the hosts were, where they lived and what their event would entail. He very professionally described a financial entrepreneur’s fundraising ball, an international footballer’s wedding anniversary, a businessman’s charity auction - all whilst growing more and more aroused, as the touch from Will grew more intimate.

“Rather,” Hannibal whispered before continuing in a voice adjusted to more of his normal way of speaking, “...rather than reply and attend all of these invit... invitations, it might be easier, more tolerable, if you held a ball of your own Sir?”

The hands stilled either side of Hannibal's yet unmentioned erection, “That’s a pretty good idea Hannibal. Ball? Or _balls_ perhaps?” He smirked and raised an unseen eyebrow. “Do you think you could hold _your_ own balls for me?”

“You wish me? To?...” Hannibal asked, dropping the envelopes.

“Yeah, grab your balls and lift them Hannibal,” Will said, a flair of excitement rushing through his limbs at the boldness of his command and the certainty that it would be obeyed.

Hannibal reached down to his testicles, currently squashed against his upper thigh and lifted them through the fabric of his trousers, they had already tightened with the strength of his erection and he bunched them up, together with the base of his engorged dick. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, the stretchy fabric warm and accommodating.

Hannibal kept his touch light till Will’s hand clasped over his in a stronger grip, **“like this,”** Will said. He let go of Hannibal's hand and crouched behind him, rolling up his trouser legs to the knee to reveal the dark elastic straps of the suspenders, he stroked and squeezed his calves and the soft skin in between the straps. He was unable to resist a couple of stretches of the elastic - letting it snap back with a high, satisfying _thwick!_

He dug in his thumbs and massaged upwards, furrowing the flesh and fabric in trails of pressure that closed below. Will stood upright as his hands reached Hannibal's presented ass, making him gasp as, without hesitation Will boldly cupped his fingers over his hole, burrowing in between his cheeks with the stretching trousers, his way made clearer by the absence of balls.

“Step wider for me,” Will said and he did.

Will’s fingers rubbed over the heat of Hannibal’s hole, dipping into the flesh further and further through the softness of fabric, pushing it into him, shallow fingering through the cloth hard and dry. Hannibal, leaning over on one hand, the other cupping himself tight, hug his head, eyes closed. Besides his straining dick his body was loose, submitting to whatever Will wanted to do to him, _anything_ he wanted to do to him.

Will jabbed his fingertips in and out fast and firm, the rest of his hand thoroughly squeezing hannibal’s bottom with each dip. He watched that thick cock bobbing above Hannibal’s grip, the damp tip spreading a dark shape on his trousers, he reached down with his other hand to twang the suspenders again and grunted at the sound. “Fuck hannibal,” he said, ‘fuck!.” He twanged them again.

Keeping quiet naturally, as he did when performing any of his duties, Hannibal was panting and jostled with Will’s movement, it was quite the test, he was beginning to fear that he might ejaculate from this - it was overwhelming after his night of abstinence and he needed a reprieve. “Mmmmmmph,” he huffed, “Is the uniform up to requirement Sir?”

Will stopped, pleased at Hannibal’s move for control and thankful for the excuse to avoid pressing his own erection against his semi butler as he was feeling increasingly compelled to do.

“Clasp your hands behind your back,” he commanded, “higher.”

Will pulled the elasticated waistband down very slowly, relishing the gradual reveal of Hannibal’s taut, bare buttocks. The band held itself snugly under the swell at the top of his thighs, the little bunch of fabric still stuffed up inside him. The front of the trousers had pulled down to the base of his erection - stretched tight and proud away from his body shiny around the tip of his leaking cock, rolled high like old fashioned breeches above his socks and suspenders.

“Ok, yes. The uniform seems to be in order, you can straighten up now. Legs together.”

Will watched as his commands were met, his heartbeat thudding, mostly in his cock at the sight of his obedient employee, bottom and legs prettily framed in his perverse outfit.

Rudely exposed.

Suddenly the bedroom seemed too private for this dare. Will felt like upping the mischief. He glanced about and grabbed an embroidered mantelpiece runner with tassels on the ends and approached Hannibal with it.

They would have made quite a sight if anyone had happened to use that particular hallway at that particular moment, Will’s meticulous study of the rota and mental mapping of the crossing journeys of cleaners and staff came to his aid once again. Not only would he have had to explain a blindfolded Hannibal - arms held behind, shortened trousers with ass hanging out but also and perhaps even more significantly, why he was letting Will lead him through the house by his dick.


	8. Chapter 8

Hannibal swayed behind Will in the darkness of the blindfold, his heightened sense of smell and their muffled footsteps informing him of their whereabouts in the house. His body shuffled and thudded behind the hard, possessive grip of Will’s hand on his erection, the tug of it tethered to the aroused tissue behind his balls and up deep inside his lower body. He obediently kept his arms behind his back despite the temptation, _the instinct_ to use them for balance and safety: trusting Will - allowing the call of submission to flood through his muscles and relax into the pull.

As he led his placid employee down the dimly lit corridor Will felt entirely gleeful, this was genuine fun, he almost couldn’t believe it was happening - It wasn’t just land and bricks, furniture, ancient trees, a lake he had come into ownership of - this man was _his_.

He stopped at one of the empty rooms - the upstairs lounge with a balcony and enormous bespoke furniture, he pulled Hannibal inside - feeling the rush of control, _how very deliciously undignified to manoeuvre someone about like this_. When he released his hold, his hand was warm and wet as he rubbed his fingers together.

“Shut the door Hannibal.”

Keeping his arms out of action, Hannibal blindly nudged at the heavy oak door with his hip till it brushed slowly over the deep pile of the carpet and finally closed. It was just a few seconds later that the sound of a rattling hoover came trundling down the corridor, finally disappearing into another room and humming into life. Hannibal turned to Will tipping his head to the sound and smiling beneath his mask. He still looked elegant and sanguine in this unscripted situation, Will could tell that behind the blindfold Hannibal was aware of the indulgent ogling - he had relaxed into a perfect pose for him to view, he wanted to please him.

It was delicious, to be stood in the large opulent room indulging in a good long look at Hannibal’s beautiful legs and graceful body in his _despicable_ outfit - his chest expanding in aroused breaths, immaculate hair loose over the blindfold, lips falling vulnerably open - he was very much on the edge of endurance.

Stepping nearer to the rudely jutting erection beneath the dampened fabric Will thwacked it with a light slap - it bobbed from side to side - heavy and thick. The contact made Hannibal moan - he relaxed his head back and impulsively thrust into emptiness with his hips, willing more contact. Another slap and oscillation then Will took him in hand and squeezed up and down the clothed length of him, reaching round to grab his bare buttocks with his other hand. He made little jiggly slaps to his ass, testing the bounce of the flesh - it turned all of Hannibal’s exhales into rhythmic moans.

As Will pushed the trousers further up into his body with two fingers Hannibal began to helplessly fuck himself into Will’s hands - rocking down from his penetrated hole up to his enclosed cock - back and to - while Will barely moved, but for some fine-tuning of hand position.

“ **Kneel down** ,” Will said realising the floor might be a better idea. He assisted Hannibal firmly as he obligingly folded himself lower and lower till one cheek and his shoulders were on the soft, cream carpet, arms still loosely clasped behind and bare ass up in the air. Kneeling beside him, Will continued as before - scooping his fingers shallowly inside him while stroking his cock fast below.

Pulling his fingers out he slapped him on the ass, a _sharp stinger_ that Hannibal took beautifully.

“Wider,” he commanded.

Hannibal shuffled his bare knees further apart, panting controlled but urgent breaths, tensing his buttocks in anticipation of another smack as Will moved behind, in between his legs.

Not wanting to disappoint, Will gave him one - and another - and another, swinging back and whacking a well-judged amount of effort into it. Hands blurring in speed, the impact wobbling the cheeks of Hannibal's ass seemingly relentlessly. As the spanking grew in frequency and strength Hannibal gasped after each impact, his face squashing into the thick carpet, the heat of it, the ecstasy of pain and being owned - He was there to be used - to take what was given- _take it_ \- _take it_ \- his climax built up strong and ready. In a deep voice he said out loud, “I’m going to..”

“ **You’re not** ,” Will interrupted and withdrew all contact.

“Uhhhhhggghgg…” Hannibal groaned in frustration within the isolation of his blindfold, his hands making tight white fists behind his back.

Standing up above the prone red bottom of his semi-butler Will slipped his hands into his own pants. Hannibal could hear the stretch of the waistband and then the fleshy rubbing as he jerked himself off with a satisfied “mmmmmmmmmgh” sound.

Forced to listen to the pleasure Will was feeling, the very satisfaction he craved, it was so exquisitely cruel. Hannibal’s own penis felt raw with need and friction, so _insistently_ heavy beneath him - untouched - twitching - dripping.

Will was trying to think clearly inside the ferocious fog of sexual frenzy, should he come on him? Should he? Would that be okay? The hot reddened skin was right there below. The legs SO wide apart. The fucking tight fucking sock suspenders…

“Do it Sir?” Hannibal grinned into the carpet.

In one desperate move Will stretched his pants down, flobbed out his dick and balls and splurted white streaks of come all over Hannibal’s glowing upturned ass.

“Uuuuunnnnnphhhhh, fuuuuuuck… Hannibal, FUCK!”

 

*

 

Will left him there on the floor with no more than a soft caress to his hair - almost a ‘ruffle’, he headed off on his run.

Having cleaned himself with some serviettes from the drinks cabinet and dabbed the drips on the carpet. Hannibal adjusted his trousers and retrieved his jacket. He quickly withdrew to his office by the kitchen with its private bathroom to try and put himself in order.

He washed his face, flushed with arousal and heat, swept cold water through his hair to fix it smoothly back and changed into a spare pair of his specified trousers after cleaning off the remaining drops of of Mr Graham’s semen from his inflamed skin - he’d applied a little aloe gel that he kept topped up in a jar from the many Aloe Vera plants in the orangery. The whole process was doing very little to alleviate his desire as it was all serving as a reminder to what just happened.

 _What did just happen?_ He had let Mr Graham do whatever he wished. He had been completely objectified - _used!_

Hannibal leaned against the cool plastered wall of the bathroom as he got his thoughts together, head tilted back, he realised that he had almost unknowingly slipped his fingers under his shirt to rub at a nipple, caressing himself, stroking across his soft chest hair to the other one. His right hand pressed onto the bulge at the front of his trousers - so sensitive, pulsing with hunger and craving satisfaction. He couldn't get the sensations and sounds of a few minutes ago out of his head. The pleasure he had heard in Mr Graham's breaths and moans, the exhilaration of the spanking - so SORE from all that violent effort on his body, the rough fingers and fabric up inside him. Every part of his body that had been given attention was glowing - he could feel every red line of elastic snap on his lower legs, the friction burn where the trousers had intimately rubbed his skin and the carpet on his knees, the handprints on his ass, the rough - strong grip on his cock.

Hannibal was getting breathless - his activities building to a full on masturbation level, it was too hard to deny himself the conclusion. His hand speeded up on his dick - over the cloth like Mr Graham - hard and fast: it felt _**so good.**_

The back door slammed loudly and jolted him out of his approaching ecstasy. Mr Graham was back from his run.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please check the new tags - there is a bit of medical kink here - _nothing untoward_ but if you don't like needles - beware.
> 
> I must acknowledge one of my favourite fics by [weconqueratdawn.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn/pseuds/Weconqueratdawn) -  [Committed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099384) \---for off the charts levels of magnificent medical kink, beautiful tension and characters and the naughtiest trousers ever written about.

Defeated once more and having held back till he was absolutely sure Will had finished in his room Hannibal pelted up the building’s original servant’s staircase, very much preoccupied with the nagging thought that the bed hadn’t been made to his usual standard. He entered the open doorway and proceeded to tuck in the perfect sheets that extra two percent tighter.

He’d had time to calm down whilst waiting and gave himself permission to mentally tick off the bed from his list of jobs, the full feeling of satisfaction would not be forthcoming till the rest of the tasks were complete, _not to mention any sexual satisfaction_ \- at some point.

He turned sharply at the soft scraping sound from the ensuite and stopped in horror - he had inadvertently walked-in on Mr Graham shaving in the steamed bathroom mirror. He was completely undressed apart from a low-slung, long, white towel that defined the curve of his back and stomach muscles in an alluring arc, draped from hip to ankle. He was leaning close to the glass, occupied by his shaving as if alone.

Deciding it would be best to sneak away, Hannibal took one last look at the smooth skin of Mr Graham’s chest and biceps, admiring the confident moves of his hand as he neatened the edges of his beard. His feet were particularly well-formed and graceful.

He noticed a trickle of blood running over his ankle bone and realised he couldn’t possibly leave it unattended. He subtly cleared his throat.

“Yes Hannibal?” Will said calmly without turning from the mirror.

 _He had known he was there the whole time_ , “I think you might have injured yourself Sir?”

Will laughed at his reflection, “Yes, that - I tripped over some barbed wire down near the orchard, went ass over teakettle into a ditch!”

“We have a first aid kit in the house - I can see to it if you wish.”

“Sure. It’s not so bad though,” Will flapped the towel to one side, “ahh - well, perhaps it is.”

*

The kit, housed in a large enamel tin was extremely well stocked. Hannibal kept himself up to date with first aid training and minor procedures - enjoying the knowledge and precision involved beyond what was required as well as illegally procuring several prescription-only professional medical supplies from his variety of contacts. Mr Keating had trusted him to fulfill many _very_ specific requests.

Having completed his shaving Will had positioned himself in one of the low bedroom armchairs. He was still wearing only the towel - hair hanging in dark wet curls around his face and flattened black crescents to the back of his neck. It made Hannibal feel like he was breaking etiquette despite the far from polite things they had already done together - he was unnerved as he lifted the leg and propped it on a footstool, eyes lowered.

*

Watching his kneeling manager see to his injury with such care and efficiency was fascinating to Will. His eyes widened as he enjoyed the sight of a pair of powdered, pale cream surgical gloves being stretched onto Hannibal’s hard-working hands with a final rubbery smack on each. His eyes wandered over the veined forearms, highlighted now between the matte of the gloves and the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

The towel was parted very carefully to reveal a strong gash on Will’s shin. Hannibal used a wad of cotton tissues which he doused in saline solution to clean the blood from the length of the leg and inside the wound - dabbing slowly and methodically with new pieces until it was clean. He tidied away the reddened tissues and saline then opened a bottle of antiseptic liquid releasing a strong nostalgic tang to the air. Will felt it as a cold sting on his warmed skin.

Hannibal returned the bottle of antiseptic to the tin and neatly opened a plastic pack containing a dressing. With a quick glance up to Will he pressed it very firmly to the cut. It stayed in place as he took a pair of sharp, silver scissors and snipped a long piece of gauze and some bandage tape to wind round the dressing with a swoop of his arm. Will lazily tracked Hannibal’s gloved fingers as they handled the little scissors and the bandages, he appreciated the tinny tap that the scissors made when they were placed on the enamel lid, the click of the glass bottles and the ripping of the wrappers - it was all so soothing and methodical and very comforting, _more_ than comforting.

Hannibal was fastidiously neat about his work as he carried it out, all rubbish dealt with immediately, everything replaced as it should be once used. He was very pleased with the final treated wound, wrapped firmly but not too tight around Mr Graham's rather rounded calf. Cleaned and taken care of.

He was about to stand up when he noticed a fresh patch of bright red blood soaking through the white towel on Will’s thigh. Carefully peeling back the towel revealed a much deeper cut higher up the same leg, jagged and raw.

“This is a more serious matter I’d say. Did you not feel this?” Hannibal asked concerned.

“Honestly, I just thought it was a scratch,” Will replied, still lulled into a relaxed state.

“Barbed wire is a tetanus risk, you’ll need a shot and possibly some stitches if the bleeding continues,” Hannibal removed the gloves with a puff of powder and elastic snap.

Will groaned imagining waiting round in hospital for the rest of the day, “do I have to?”

“Well, I do happen to have all the necessary equipment here as it happens Sir, although I'd have to double check the expiration date on the tetanus immunoglobulin.”

“Is that the antidote?”

“Yes, just a precaution, we have a small stock of such things in one of the refrigerators and it's best not to ask why,” Hannibal replied with a smile.

*

He returned from downstairs with a metal tray from the dishwasher and another more specific kit that rattled as he moved.

Will was even sleepier than before. The bedroom was warmed by the large radiator and the open bathroom door, his pre-run orgasm and post-run exhaustion and hot shower were taking their toll - he allowed himself to be positioned by Hannibal, legs spread comfortably wide onto two small footstools. Mostly naked other than the towel.

At the sound of a knock Hannibal rose to fetch the drink he’d prepared downstairs from the housekeeper, closing the door to her casual curiosity.

Will sipped the tea and observed the very precise and methodical arranging of equipment on the tray. A syringe in a sealed packet, a small silver vial with a printed label - he could make out the word 'tetanus' but not much else. Condensation settled on the cold exterior of the little bottle. There was another pair of gloves, the saline, cotton dressings, tape and the gauze as he expected. He was surprised to spot a second official looking medical packet, small and flat which he surmised must be for closing the skin somehow. There were tweezers and a few sachets of alcohol sterilising wipes.

Will laughed.

“Are you sure you have everything you need Hannibal?”

Hannibal nodded from one item to another quite seriously, “I believe we can start now, are you ready?”

*

The new gloves squeaked over Hannibal’s hands, the clean fingertips bloodied immediately as he wiped the cut on Will’s inner thigh with confident strokes.

The blood was very red on the white cotton tissues - all collected together in a white bin liner hung from a nearby drawer handle. There was another slightly more flamboyant change of gloves, Will swallowed audibly as they locked eyes.

The mystery packet revealed a tiny, curved surgical needle with pre-attached black suture thread.

“Are you really going to?” Will started to say.

“If you would prefer me to take you to the hospital, it's not much of a drive.”

“Go ahead, I trust you,” Will raised his eyebrows at Hannibal who gave him a strange smile in return before sterilising the tweezers and gripping the tiny glinting needle.

With considerable skill and delicacy Hannibal stitched 5 neat little knots closing Will’s opened skin. He pierced through the surface with the skinny curve of needle, rolling the edges back together like a surgeon. He used his sterilised scissors to trim each end in between tying, with a sharp and satisfying snip.

Will could feel every pull of skin and push-through of the needle - it wasn't anything he couldn’t stand. It was in such a sensitive area of his inner thigh that the tickly ghostings of Hannibal’s rubber fingers on his leg were almost stronger sensations than the stitches. He sipped at the tea again and observed the concentration on his semi-butler’s face and the graceful, intimate movements of his hands.

The towel had loosened gradually from its tuck and a softly opened gap had appeared over Will’s semi hard cock. Hannibal gave it a quick glance through his hair and then looked back at his work, forgetting for a moment not to sit back on his heels and audibly wincing at the sting from the spanking. Will’s dick visibly jerked at the sight.

He took another casual sip of tea.

Nothing Hannibal did helped to hide Mr Graham’s arousal - every wipe of blood and antiseptic dislodged the edges of the towel further apart. His legs were opened very wide and the moist warmth and clean scent of his hardening dick was in the air - the fact that he hadn't bothered to hide himself or make any adjustments was such an enormous turn-on for Hannibal he had to keep sneaking a look - etiquette be damned.

Despite the circumstances, the sutures were completed perfectly - a row of black knots that Hannibal enjoyed looking at, this was so much more than mending a tear in a coat. This was a beautiful thigh of smooth skin below a dark patch of desire and a trusting man. Hannibal was extremely pleased to have done such a useful thing for Mr Graham - to have brought him pleasure was a bonus.

Vaseline from a newly opened tin was thinly smeared onto the area, then a light dressing and bandage methodically applied. Towel wide open - Will’s very inappropriate exposure half-curled unmentioned between them.

The syringe was opened and filled slowly and carefully from the vial: Hannibal handled it all confidently, he stroked a rubbery fingertip along the top of Will’s bare arm, searching for the perfect spot on his deltoid. Ensuring there were no veins, he spiked the needle of the syringe into the muscle and injected the small amount of cloudy liquid into him, noticing with a smile how very still Will was holding himself, all apart from another twitch of his cock as the sharp needle plunged in.

Being mended and sewn up and injected was a surprisingly pleasant experience for Will. The pain was kind of thrilling, the calming attentions of skilled hands and a handsome, provocatively dressed nurse: the perfect balance. His dick, pointing up from the shadows of the towel was nearly fully hard just from the experience and he was pretty sure that Hannibal would take the next step. He'd seemed to enjoy the situation almost as much as Will and he must be on the brink of complete frustration.

*

The supplies and equipment were tidied quickly away before Hannibal came to stand above him, still wearing the medical gloves, swapping the small tin of Vaseline from hand to hand.

“ _Nearly_ all done I think Sir. You did very well - very relaxed.” He opened the lid of the tin with a greased squeak.

“ _Most_ of you is relaxed I should say.” He dipped two fingers into the jelly and pulled out a big scandalous glob of it, “may I see to anything else that might be troubling you?”

Will seductively released the last small edge of the white towel holding itself round his waist and widened his opened legs even further - showing his neat, new bandages on his naked body - pale but for a reddening shoulder and dark pink cock straining up from the soft shadowy curls of his body hair.

“You may.”

*


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my instinctive love of pantries, feasts and food lists and of course Scatman Crothers in The Shining: 
> 
> Dick Hallorann : We've got canned fruits and vegetables, canned fish and meats, hot and cold syrups, Post Toasties, Corn Flakes, Sugar Puffs, Rice Krispies, Oatmeal... and Cream of Wheat. You got...
> 
> [then, telepathically to Danny] 
> 
> Dick Hallorann : How'd you like some ice cream, Doc?
> 
> Dick Hallorann : ...a dozen jugs of black molasses, we got sixty boxes of dried milk, thirty twelve-pound bags of sugar... Now we got dried peaches, dried apricots, dried raisins and dried prunes. You know Mrs. Torrance, you got to keep regular, if you want to be happy!

For three full days Will avoided any situations of prolonged contact with Hannibal. He became purposely busy researching his plans to host a ball, keeping his constant instinct to consult with his manager in check while maintaining a distant, though friendly relationship with him.

Hannibal showed no reaction to Will’s withdrawn behaviour, he continued his smooth running of the house and staff, making sure the grounds and vehicles were prepped for the coming winter season - as usual: personally seeing to most jobs himself. Perhaps he too seemed slightly more busy than usual.

There was a strong breeze blowing, unusually warm for the time of year - it lended a surreal edge to life in and around the house - whipped up the beginnings of yellow and red leaf drop and shook loose the broken twigs like little wands from atop the old oaks.

Every moment Will failed to distract himself with party-prep was an opportunity pounced upon by his mind to re-run the events that took place between him and Hannibal in his bedroom. _What kind of preposterously decadent life was he living here?_ It had escalated from a bit of mild teasing to some kind of sordid sexual servant and master fetish. Nothing like it had ever happened to him before. Perhaps some slight tendency to take control in bed or finding himself turned on by accidental obedience or submission but no real experiences like these. He was finding it all terribly satisfying and easy, predicting Hannibal’s reactions and limitations was an extremely enjoyable aspect of it all but there was a definite blur regarding who was manipulating who.

The experience of those skilled, greased and rubber-gloved hands manipulating his dick after all that calmly erotic medical attention was giving him twinging aftershocks of pleasure everytime he thought about it. _The concentration! The moves! What was that twist he did around the head with thumb and forefinger? The grip and squeeze and slick, sleazy slide!_

_*_

Hannibal had used both hands - slipping his long fingers beneath Will’s balls, skirting no small amount of friction over his hole without breaching it. Kneeling between Will’s bare legs, elbows out - he used his hands as a pulsing tunnel up his shaft, alternating hard and light squeezes, ramping up his speed and pressure steadily to a rigorous, thorough, selfless wank. Will was defenseless.

During the peak frenzy of activity the Aria from Bach’s Goldberg Variations began to play out of nowhere - Will had allowed himself to accept this somewhat until he realised it was Hannibal’s cell phone. He focused on Hannibal and smiled.

“Answer it,” he said. “And **don’t** stop.”

It was The Cheshire smokehouse calling about an order. Hannibal used his slippy finger to set the phone to speaker mode and placed it one-handed on the rug.

“Yes, this is Hannibal. Fine thank you…” He returned both hands to his employer’s shiny solid cock.

“The system is down again Hannibal, would it be convenient for you or one of your team to run through your latest order please? It’s quite a large one,” a well spoken female voice asked cheerfully.

Hannibal looked up through his loosened strands of hair, sweating with exertion - to Will’s utter delight he licked his top lip with a _filthy_ look before replying, “I’m practically the only one capable of handling Mr Graham’s meat.”

There was a squelch of Vaseline and Will bit his wrist to stifle a guffaw and moan of pleasure.

Hannibal was using his politest, poshest voice and Will couldn’t get enough of it - the improperness of the whole thing was a joy.

“You are correct, it is a large one, yes,” Hannibal smiled and pulled both rings of each thumb and forefinger firmly up the length in front of him. He proceeded to converse with the shopkeeper while skillfully Vaseline wanking his boss’s glistening cock.

“One hundred smoked duck breasts, ten baked Cheshire hams, twenty smoked kippers…” Hannibal concentrated his effort on the head and ridge of Will’s dick with one hand, the other tightly gripping the base of the shaft. “Fifteen kilograms porchetta, one hundred sliced sides of Smoked Scottish Salmon…” he swapped and rotated his hands, gliding easily through the jelly. “Fifty hot smoked Wincle trout, twenty kilograms sweet black streaky bacon, one hundred smoked mackerel fillets - peppered…” he slowly pulled Will’s balls down, levering the erection forward and making him arch his back from the chair, mixing the precome into the mess he lightened his touch and shimmied his fingertips all over the glans and shaft, soft but very fast. “Ten kilograms of Kasseler - sliced..” he pulled a bit harder on the balls, “five kilograms Stornoway Black Pudding, twenty kilograms of chicken liver pate with orange, twenty pork liver…” keeping the balls and base of Will’s dick taut he began building speed on the head, stretching the length of the shaft and using his rubber-clad palm to stroke him relentlessly up and down - Will was raised off the chair, buttocks and thighs clenched in ecstasy as Hannibal listed the last of the meat in his beautifully controlled voice.

“And we mustn't forget, six hundred, cut pork sausage.”

Will failed to muffle his vocal sigh of pleasure as his climax pumped throbs of come into Hannibal's waiting hands.

“That is _quite_ a load Hannibal,” the woman’s voice said from the floor, “I'll make sure to supply a few crates with it, I'm sure you’ve got the room down there. Pleasure dealing with you.”

“ _The pleasure is all mine_ , good afternoon.” Hannibal ended the call with a deft elbow and turned both gloves inside out to collect the second delivery of Will’s ejaculate that morning.

Hannibal had stood up shakily from the floor holding the pale, come-filled gloves like a used condom. The scandalously tight front of his new trousers was obviously darkened - soaked through with his own come, half-hard dick held up tightly against his body by the fabric, practically as bare as Will’s beneath the thin, clinging uniform.

He was very wet.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written to the sound of Al bowlly  
> For atmosphere click [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rb9t9kPRAH8)
> 
> The last chapter turned into two, this being the first part - I'm close to completing the final part with it's human furniture illustration and costume ball kinkiness. (subscribe for updates it might be pretty soon)
> 
> WARNING- NSFW art in this watch out for snoops!

 

The moist scent of baked cinnamon and sweet pastry caught Will by surprise as he approached the kitchen - the air was... _delicious_.

Trailing his fingers along the wall, he floated steadily into the heart of the aroma, projected back in time by nostalgic feelings of home and holidays.

A steamy engine of bubbling pots - the kitchen was running at full capacity in preparation for the costume charity ball that had been the talk of the ‘Cheshire Set’ for the last couple of months. Will had decided to bring a little taste of America to the Northern countryside and had settled on The Shining as his theme.

Thoroughly pleased with the ideas they had devised, Will had surprisingly begun to look forward to the event. He and Hannibal had sat comfortably at the orangery bar one afternoon with an iPad and Hannibal’s Moleskine notebook, sniggering at the ideas, slipping steadily into the acceptance of their new level of intimacy and the ‘no going back’ aspect of their personal and professional relationship.

A dark red blood orange and spiced-rum punch fountain in full flow would be placed dramatically in the hall to set the mood, complete with a sign for ‘REᗡ ЯUM’. A bespoke printed exhibition carpet had been ordered from Rutters in the infamous Overlook Hotel orange print to lead the guests down the corridor to the main hall - lavishly decorated as The Gold Room Bar where a big band and Art Deco extravaganza would await. They had ordered serviettes to be printed with typed lines of ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ Hannibal had found some spare brass numbers to make a 237 for the guest’s bathroom door. The biggest expenditure was the commission of a replica cocktail bar to be built in situ, with light up white panels and counter, filled with vintage bottles - perfect for Hannibal to serve the drinks to the ghosts/guests while immaculately dressed as Lloyd.

“It smells _very_ inviting in here,” Will said as he turned the corner into the kitchen.

“Well consider yourself invited in,” Hannibal replied without turning from the Aga. He was closing the oven door with a foot - after removing a tray of freshly baked cinnamon plum strudels with his oven gloves.

Will snorted. “To my own kitchen? _Why - thank you._ ”

He approached the central island for a closer look, it was adorned with beautiful, handmade delicacies for the buffet: plump pies glistening with glazed redcurrants generously arranged on their browned tops, pickled roasted vegetables with thyme in crystal jars, fruit tortes with rhubarb and raspberry, strawberry mousse, pistachio cannoli, chocolate and ginger ricciarelli, plates of miniature sausage and spinach rolls, everything delicate and precise and sumptuous.

“Vol-au-vents?” Will laughed when he spotted them, “I thought it was a twenties theme not the eighties.”

Hannibal answered him with a single raised brow, “ _Petits gâteaux vol-au-vent_ are mentioned as an entremet in François Marin's 1739 cookbook _Les Dons de Comus._ They are perfect finger food for any buffet - from any decade _._ Often wrongly attributed to Antonin Carême - they were gracing tables years before his birth.”

Will found himself shivering as Hannibal spoke French, watching quietly as he slid down the island, flamboyantly removing a glass cloche from atop a large elaborate gateaux placed at the far end and announcing, “Now THIS is Carême!”

Will snorted again and held his hands to his chest. “Might one call it the _Crème de la Carême_?”

Hannibal ignored the joke - he was entirely focussed on food preparation and was not without a small amount of pride. “It is a traditional pear and vanilla Charlotte Russe filled with with crème bavaroise and bordered with my freshly baked savoiardi - as you might say- ladyfingers?” He gave the immaculate gold bow a slight tug to neaten it. It was a stunning masterpiece, crisp, identical biscuits dusted with powdered sugar, snugly ringing the perfectly piped creamy centre and pear gel topping, tied round with a neat golden ribbon.

Will couldn’t contain his laughter, Hannibal was so serious, it was wonderful.

Hannibal continued, “He invented it for Czar Alexander the first and named it aft…”

Will stepped alongside him, idly twisting the base of the carved wooden cake stand, nearer and nearer the edge of the counter.

“It’s ever so well made _Hannibal_ ,” he interrupted, emphasising his name in a slightly threatening way, he looked up at him with his head tilted down. There was a decidedly naughty attitude simmering from him as he bit his bottom lip, his finger running gently along the base of the cake stand.

“Th, thank you Sir. Careful, it might fall.”

“Oh, sorry, yes - that would be terrible.” Will moved on, distracted. “Oh! What are these? Is this the gold leaf?”

Hannibal swallowed as he gently moved the Charlotte away from the edge and lifted another glass cloche to display his gilded almonds, their golden ridges were prettily reflective on the dish.

“They are decoration for the Charlotte Russe, to be added tomorrow - just before serving, I’ve only completed about half up to now, they’ve worked well though.”

Will nodded, he took in the gilding supplies neatly arranged on a tray- the same items he’d observed Hannibal using to add gold leaf to the picture frames - a tiny brush like a moustache, square booklets of thin leaf, artist’s brushes and bottles, a squared off knife, toothpicks. “What are you using instead of the glue?” he asked.

“Ahhh, a thin glaze of Amaretto liqueur Sir, allowed to dry.”

“Very good, can I taste one?”

“Please,” Hannibal offered up the dish and Will took a nut and tossed it into his mouth. “They’re blanched, skinned and lightly toasted to bring out the flavour,” Hannibal said.

“Mmmm, sweet - the gold doesn’t really taste of anything does it?”

“It doesn’t but there is a certain thrill one gets from putting such an illicit thing in one’s mouth no?

Will smiled at him with bright eyes. “Definitely.”

———

Leaving Hannibal to his cooking, Will popped into the main hall, now lined in golden streamers. He weaved through red silk ropes on tall, brass stands, the new red seating and large potted palms to admire the joiner’s work on the bar for the third time that day, re-checking that the lighting and fridges were working. He grabbed the plastic suit bag from the cloakroom and ran up the stairs to take a quick shower and try on his costume.

Standing confidently in front of his full length mirror Will was elegant and trim in the tailored, twenties style tuxedo based on Jack Nicholson in the old photograph. He loved the feel of the fabric, so different to anything he’d ever worn, he felt like another person. He’d shaved and slicked back his wet hair with some fresh scented pomade that Hannibal had put in his bathroom.

The bow tie would need some assistance though. He left the mirror with a spin on his patent leather dress shoes and returned downstairs to the kitchen.

Hannibal was in the middle of covering the remaining almonds in gold, working intently and enjoying The Best of Al Bowlly on the Sonos system.

“Dress rehearsal!” Will announced as he entered.

Hannibal jerked with surprise and tried to dampen his instant joyful appreciation of his beautiful boss when he saw the clean shaven face, dark, swept hair and perfectly proportioned figure in that chic suit. It was difficult to suppress.

Will strolled over to him, shoes clicking on the tile, he half closed his eyes and lifting his chin asked, “Would you bow tie me Hannibal?”

Hannibal quickly rinsed and dried his hands and took confidently to the tie, despite the flood of excitement he felt whenever his knuckles brushed against that silky skin. While he flipped the ends over and under, Will opened his lips and looked through the slits of his eyelids at him. “You’re very skilled at this, and all of the cooking you’ve done for me, thank you Hannibal.”

Hannibal was transfixed, his whole body responding to the praise with warmth and tingling satisfaction, he felt a stirring in his dick, a twitch of the flesh that was instantly intensified by his perpetually too-tight pants. He rubbed his thighs together out of sight. “It’s my pleasure Sir.”

Will kept his lips slightly open, enjoying seeing his semi-butler’s eyes drawn to his mouth. “You are such a help for me, really invaluable,” he whispered, watching Hannibal swallow, Will smiled a little at his efforts to control himself.

Taking advantage of Hannibal’s occupied hands, Will reached over and removed the cloche covering the Charlotte Russe. He slid the base of the wooden stand closer to them. “I mean, this really is a very pretty cake you have made for me.”

“Sir?”

“So many processes, so much hard work.” He pulled the base right to the edge of the counter with a heavy squeal.

Hannibal was glancing towards the cake then back to the bow tie, trying to complete his task but twitching towards the precious cake. Will pulled the stand so that it was a third over the edge of the counter, top heavy but balanced on the side of safety. His eyes slid from the cake to Hannibal. “It’s so creamy and—” Without breaking his gaze from Hannibal’s eyes, he boldly stuck his finger right into the perfection of the smooth pear gel and piped topping, scooped out a forbidden dollop and sucked his finger into his mouth before pulling it out slowly from between his lips. “Delicious!”

Hannibal gasped, eyes wide with shock. His hands froze on the bow tie as Mr Graham stuck his finger into the Charlotte for a second time, he had chance to think, _well, I can redo the top quite easily- all is not lost_ before the soft, cream-covered finger was pushed through his lips, he closed his eyes, opened instinctively for him and sucked.

There was an almighty crash and a thudding wet flumph impact on the tiles at his feet, a sound that could only have come from several pounds of cream and sponge hitting the floor. Almost simultaneously his semi hard dick was grabbed solidly by Mr Graham and squeezed as it jerked at the blatant rule breaking. Hannibal moaned loudly around Will’s finger in equal parts horror and lust. Will gasped a breathy sigh and moved his body closer to him.

Opening his eyes, Hannibal looked down at the huge mess in his pristine kitchen. The cream had flung itself far and wide across cupboards and the Aga, the main body of it next to their feet and half way up the bottom of their legs, the little biscuits scattered amongst it: smashed. His hard work, the cake, the baking and whisking, his kitchen. “Sir, your suit!” he exclaimed around Will’s fingers.

“Yyyyeahhh, I know,” Will said and slunk to his knees in the plush mound of Hannibal’s crème bavaroise. He trailed his hands down Hannibal’s hips as he pushed his face into his semi-butler’s clinging trouser-covered, rapidly hardening cock.

————-

Will felt out the shape of Hannibal with his open mouth and tongue while squeezing a hand tight around his own erection. He looked up at his semi-butler’s flushed face, above his hands still frozen in bow tie position. “ **Put your hands behind your back** ,” he ordered.

Hannibal obeyed.

The elasticated waistband of Hannibal’s trousers stretched easily off and over his stiffening dick, down his thighs to below his knees, leaving him openly revealed.

There it was.

“ **Spread your legs**.” Will picked up one of the long biscuits from the pile of cake all around him as Hannibal’s thighs opened in front of his face, minutely swaying his balls and beautiful, plump cock. “Ladyfingers hmmm?” He sucked the biscuit into his mouth, watching Hannibal, he slid it in and out a few times before blinking his eyes from Hannibal’s face to his cock and balls - biting down. With his mouth full he said, “Oh fuck - they’re magnificent Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s fingers twitched behind his back as he stood on display, watching Mr Graham sucking off the biscuit at his feet - suit and hands spattered in cake and custard, lips dusted with powdered sugar, facing his throbbing cock - watching it grow fat. The air around them gently clouded from the crashing cake - scent lifting the background of baked pastry - a new base of strong, dark vanilla topped with fresh pear and the bergamot hair pomade that he’d bought for him.

Will washed down the crumbs with a greedy scoop of floor cream and licked his tongue all around his sugared lips facing Hannibal’s dick.

This Thing had been on Will’s mind for a long time: this big beauty.

He finally took his eyes off it, raising an eyebrow at Hannibal - who raised one back, gasping as Will lifted the weight of the dangling, heavy cock with his bottom lip and very slowly sucked the fullness of it into the heat of his mouth. The foreskin sucked in first, loose and soft before the head slid in beyond it - pulling back the skin as Hannibal’s length disappeared fully into Will’s face.

The satisfaction of rebelliousness bloomed in Will’s chest, it felt like he was breaking _all_ the rules at once. Mouth and throat filled with dick, bespoke tuxedo soaked in purposely-ruined patisserie, kneeling in front of his butler. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling, sliding his knees wide and swirling his hands in the mess all around. He brought his fingers up between Hannibal’s legs and slid the cream over the soft skin of his inner thighs. Scooping more - he slicked his fingers behind Hannibal’s balls and glided them firmly, all over his perineum in little circles, he slid them all the way behind and grabbed each firm cheek to squeeze and shove him further into his mouth, sucking hard and gliding his lips back and to in an accelerating, noisy, ravenous rhythm.

Keeping momentum, Will gathered more cream and jelly - pushing it into Hannibal's hole - his fingers were wet with it as he breached him slowly and surely with two of them - making him quiver and widen his legs. Will glared up and spanked him a stinger on one cheek with a creamy hand and he stilled. His fingers continued to fuck in and out of him, hot and squelching - reaching inside his body to deepen his pleasure whilst sucking his dick to complete hardness.

“Sir…” Hannibal panted.

Forcing himself to pull back from the hypnotic indulgence, Will released him - Hannibal’s solid girth boinged away from his lips - pinkened, sticky and pointing at him. Keeping his fingers up inside Hannibal’s ass he got his breath back, swallowed and asked, “Could you hold that tray of gold out for me Hannibal?”

That was not what Hannibal was expecting to hear but he really didn’t know what to expect from Mr Graham any more. He tried not to move himself any further onto those tempting, pleasurable fingers as he swiveled awkwardly to grab the small metal tray of gilding equipment, he held it fixed to his outer thigh within reach.

Will removed his hand steadily from Hannibal and wiped it on the top of his tuxedo trousers. He gave him a businesslike slap on his sensitised cock to test the strength and spring of his erection, opened the little booklet of fine, fluttering gold squares and asked, “What do I do next Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s voice was very deep, his accent more pronounced. “You, er, you waft the gilder’s tip, that’s the small, flat brush, fast on the cushion to build static and pick up the gold, then, allow the leaf to attach to the, er, the _surface_? ...With one corner and wait till it floats to the correct position, the, that is... where you want it…”

Will lifted a golden square of weightless leaf, he carefully manoeuvred it to cover the tip of Hannibal’s exposed, sugary, pulsing glans - it fluttered softly just from the breath of his words. “And then?”

Hannibal swallowed. “Then use the brush to lightly press the gold onto the contours, ghosting it back and to.”

“Like this?”

“Yes Sir.”

“I just add the next piece the same way?”

“Yes Sir.”

Will was transfixed as he gradually gilded his semi-butler’s hard, sumptuous erection into a bobbing, glistening treasure.

He had to control his breathing, working steadily, the lightest of feathery touches with the specialist brush. Part of the underneath and the delicate frenulum needed some additional sticky licks for the gold to cling, having the bonus benefit of encouraging Hannibal to maintain his hardness amongst the tiny tickles of the gilding process.

Will continued until he was faced with one, solid, twenty four carat cock- every curve and vein highlighted and emphasised.

Decadent and perfect.

Hannibal, one arm behind his back and the other holding the tray low, clamped so firmly that it left a red pressure mark on his bare thigh had been watching the fascination on Mr Graham’s smoothly shaven face - it was an expression that suited him entirely; fascination with a hint of worship.

The fact that his dick was the object of that worship was such an erotic thrill - it just made him harder and justified how hot and wanting it felt standing so proud and stiff from his body.

A thin jewelled line of pre-come slipped from the tip where Will had made sure to leave a neat opening in the precious metal, he caught it on his tongue.

 

 

Will put his hands on the tops of Hannibal’s thighs and saw himself reflected in the shining object in front of him. Hannibal seemed to be huge. He opened his mouth wide and gulped in the heated gold cock.

“UMMPH Hannibal,” he said muffled around it. “Mmmmmmm fffuck.”

He grabbed Hannibal’s backside as before and shoved him hungrily into his face, he snatched handfuls of creamy custard and pushed his fingers into him, levering his cock into his mouth from inside his ass, _hard_.

Hannibal began to take over the motion. At some point he grabbed Will’s head, dropped the tray and everything fell into the mess at their feet - the squares of expensive gold leaf fluttering away in the updrafts all around the room. He fucked into Mr Graham’s face with all the culmination of months of pent up fever - the edging and teasing and touching - this was the pleasure he needed, this was the heat he wanted, the satisfaction, the self-indulgent, debauched blow job he deserved. His balls swung back and to with every thrust - covered in cream like everything else.

Mr Graham’s mouth was rubbed red, wet with saliva and cream - it ran over his chin and dripped a skinny thread to his chest, it was all over Hannibal’s decorated dick, wetting the lustre of it, removing the gold in flakes that stuck to his stretched lips and flushed face.

Hannibal’s orgasm was building fierce momentum from somewhere in his centre - it bolted blindly to the foreground. He pulled out clumsily, grunting as he climaxed - covering Will’s gold-flecked, full swollen lips with come and instinctively pushing it into his mouth where it belonged.

Will was a mess - his semi-butler had truly taken him, he wanted to taste more of him, he licked what remained on his face and the head of Hannibal’s dick - he tasted so savory amongst the sweetness, he tasted better than it, superior, _fucking perfect_.

He stood up shakily, bambi-like, sliding a bit on the tiles, climbing up Hannibal’s body to plant his lips on his and sink into a filthy kiss.

Grinding his hard-on into Hannibal’s spent gold dick he said, “Undo my trousers!” before licking his tongue into his mouth and continuing the kiss.

“Now hold out your cock,” Will said into his ear.

Hannibal, much as he would serve His employer his coffee or correspondence, offered out his now semi-hard, gilded cock - a fleshy satin weight on both flat hands as Will maneuvered his own erection out from his tuxedo trousers, he ran the tip teasingly up and down Hannibal’s length and thwacked it a good few times with his much more solid dick - Hannibal kept himself perfectly still as his employer jostled his semi up with his own fully hard cock and let it flop back into Hannibal’s hands with a _thwap_ \- he felt himself getting hard again as Will began to jerk himself off - fast and sure - breaking off once to boldly gather a handful of cream from between Hannibal’s thighs as extra lubricant. It wasn’t long before he was spurting hard, right onto Hannibal’s held out dick, covering the silky surface with his own come and rubbing it all over with the head of his cock, rubbing them together and giving Hannibal a few good squeezes like he couldn’t leave it alone.

Overcome with the brain-reset-bliss of release and breathing heavily, Will tentatively looked up at Hannibal and saw the same feeling in his expression, he leaned in and kissed him softly, leaving his lips touching Hannibal’s, stilled and panting. Hannibal put his arms around Will’s waist and pulled him close. “What a mess we have ourselves in Sir,” he said into Will’s mouth, still very much aroused and willing.

“You’d better get on your hands and knees and clean this kitchen till it’s spotless,” Will spoke demurely back into Hannibal’s mouth. “And make that cake again - properly this time. And clean my fucking suit. And Hannibal?”

“Sir?”

“ **Take your trousers off!** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, right by the way, I know pure gold is non toxic etc - couldn't find a single fucking thing about gilding penises with it anywhere - so maybe it's safe - I really don't know but this is just complete fantasy as you know - so it works here ;}
> 
> Thank you to [@Weconqueratdawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weconqueratdawn/pseuds/weconqueratdawn/works) for a lot of punctuation assistance (any remaining errors are deffo my own unchecked stuff)
> 
> For first fucking rate creamy food kink please try: [Trifle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181567) by @Petronia, [eclairs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169226/chapters/6881852) by @Emungere,  
> [Blood's Broth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707665/chapters/26474691) by @TheCountessOlivia
> 
> Final chapter coming *very* soon :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been kind about this silly, filthy fun - I've loved it. (There are a lot of ideas for timestamps :) )
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me on [INSTAGRAM](https://www.instagram.com/theseavoices/) \- for uncensored art see -> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/TheSeaVoices) \- [PILLOWFORT](https://www.pillowfort.io/TheSeaVoices)  
> I'm also on (ugh) [Facebook](https://facebook.com/theseavoices) and keeping my censored [Tumblr](https://theseavoices.tumblr.com) going

 

Leaping back off his cold, wet chair early the next morning Will realised that Hannibal must have found time to come in and wash the fabric the night before. He remembered leaving his soiled tuxedo on it when he had changed - the tux was missing. Marching over to the bell on the wall, Will pressed it hard with a smirk - he’d been shown how it rang the original servant’s bells downstairs, they were deafening.

Hannibal was cooking contentedly in the spotless kitchen. He’d returned it to that state via several hours spent cleaning in blissful reverie the night before, sparkly cock out as requested - watched by Mr Graham for a good part of it.

He was very slowly lifting his newly completed Charlotte Russe onto the top of the cake stand - an identical replacement to the one that ended partly up him.

BBBBRRRRRNNNNGGGGGGGGGG, the bell echoed shockingly loud, vibrating on the coil of metal above the old plaque for ‘His Lordship’s Room’.

Hannibal’s shoulders yanked up in surprise. “šūūūdas!” he said just catching the cake before it skidded off the dish. The harsh sound of the summons thrilled him.

———

“Come in!” Will said to the polite knock on his door. Hannibal entered the room in a smooth sweep.

Taking his time overtly studying the snug, meticulously pressed uniform - short shirt and waistcoat, tight-fitting pants, polished shoes, slicked back hair and satisfied face of his semi-butler, Will said, “I just had quite a shock when I sat down to write a letter Hannibal - do you have any idea why that might be?”

“Oh, Sir. The upholstery on the seat had to be steam-cleaned, I assumed it would have dried by now.” Hannibal immediately lost his glow, his eyes had widened. “I can only apologise, I should have replaced it.”

Will cocked his head, brushed away an imaginary thread from his sleeve. “Why don’t you replace it now?”

“Right away Sir.” Hannibal moved the offending chair against the wall and turned to leave.

“Ah-ah Hannibal,” Will admonished. “I want _you_ to replace it.”

Hannibal stopped still, a bolt of chill shot through his spine, he looked over his shoulder to see Mr Graham _actually_ lowering himself, both hands on the front of the desk as though to sit mid-air. Without consideration, Hannibal sped over and positioned his body beneath his employer in an almost automatic sacrifice. Hands and knees on the plush rug, tensed for the weight of Mr Graham.

Will sat himself down on Hannibal’s back, he knew he’d get him to do it. He couldn’t help a sigh as he adjusted his ass on him, it was pleasurable to feel the warmth of his human seat seeping through his clothing. Along with the literal warmth, there was a contented satisfaction in using his butler for a chair - easy and right - he could sense Hannibal’s flush of submissive calm beneath him - serving him entirely, useful, used, a pure objectification. Will took out his writing things from the desk drawer and set about his correspondence. He ignored Hannibal completely.

After about six minutes Will stretched, he ran his fingers down Hannibal’s crack - over his pants, all the way between his legs to fondle his balls and dick - just a casual feel-up before moving off to fetch his address book- Hannibal was hard and damp.

From the other side of the room Will admired the sight of his _chair_ and its perfect obedience, he bit his lip - the chair looked too comfortable. “Roll up your pants Hannibal.”

Will flushed at the compliance, the power Hannibal held over him was addictive - that potent need to serve. “Ffffuck,” he whispered when he saw the sock garters again. He strolled back to his desk and sat down gently on his chair.

Hannibal felt the carpet pushing into the skin of his knees as Mr Graham sat on him, he minutely adjusted his lower back muscles and shoulder blades to better accommodate him, hoping to become as comfortable to sit on as possible. Kneeling there in stillness Hannibal’s mind grew silent from the stress of the upcoming event due that evening, his usual multi-layered thoughts and planning were replaced with lighter concepts that bloomed softly before drifting away: he was still doing his job, he was useful and necessary, he was a chair: what need does a chair have for thoughts? His body had its own reaction, it was working, balancing, adjusting to the added weight all over, his erection pumped full and hot. Body and mind united with the truth of real service.

Continuing to make himself write, Will timed seven long minutes on his watch before sliding his hand over his _chair’s_ ass again and grabbing a handful of its dick. He stroked a few hard pulls before turning to the other end and pulling Hannibal’s head upright with his hair. “I need you to hold this for me?” Will said and put his pen between Hannibal’s teeth.

After neatening his papers on the desk Will looped his right leg over Hannibal - straddling him backwards, he lowered his face to his rounded ass and rolled down the stretchy trousers in a slow savouring of his skin. He slid himself along an inch or two, till his face was hanging over the edge, scooped out Hannibal’s balls and cock from between his thighs, tucking the trousers behind - pushing everything out - plump and obscene.

Will appreciated the privilege in being able to admire his semi-butler from this new angle - he was so very neat underneath - not ‘porn-smooth’ but skilfully trimmed, _well groomed_ Will thought. His parts were so flushed and thick and pretty, his hole was right there for him - Will had no choice but to pull the cheeks open and plunge his mouth onto it, licking his tongue round within the seal of his lips.

“Nnnnnnnnnnggh!” Hannibal said from either side of the pen and swaying under the weight of his boss. “Nhhh. Nhhhh…” His fingers tightened in the pile.

Pulling his cheeks further apart, Will stiffened his tongue to a point and pushed inside the rim, feeling the resistance ease open for him - sucking him into the honey musk of Hannibal.

Will’s tensed legs took some of his weight off, _he didn’t want to break his chair after all_. He took the thick cock in his hand and tugged it down in a milking motion, poking his tongue in as deep as he could and rotating it inside. He kept his movements going until Hannibal squirmed and groaned around the pen again. Will had been waiting for it and spanked him once in reprimand. He stood up and wiped his mouth, then spanked both hands down together from his overhead position - it went so well he had to do it again— harder. His hands were ringing.

Stepping away - adjusting himself, Will went to his closet, took out a small black bag and placed it under Hannibal’s face. “I bought you something else for tonight’s costume,” he said softly.

Hannibal looked up at him, hair disheveled, face so darkly flushed it matched his ass.

Will held his hand out for his pen.

“Thank you Sir. May I open it?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes.”

Hannibal unzipped the bag with one hand and took out a black silicone butt plug and a tube of lube. He giggled at Will. “Mr Graham, it’s— it’s very thoughtful of you.”

“I know, right?” Will giggled back. “There’s something else. It’s got an app, that is, _I’ve_ got the app.

“Of course. Very thoughtful indeed. Do you wish to test it?”

“Yes.” Will picked up the plug and turned it on, it vibrated once in acknowledgement. He lubed it up and squeezed some more out onto Hannibal’s still-wet hole, pressing it in with his fingertip. “Stay still,” he said.

“Yes Sir.”

“And quiet,” Will added with a smirk. “I’m concentrating.” He lined-up the slicked tip and began to push, milking that cock a couple of times more for his own pleasure- he really couldn’t keep his hands off it. Will’s dick seemed to feel the slow opening and slip of entry by proxy, it twitched as he filled Hannibal all the way with the toy, the muscle narrowing around the neck, the flat end snug to his body. Will tapped on it, watching delightedly as it sucked further in as Hannibal tensed inside. “Fuck Hannibal!” Will said in reverence. He tried to fight back the compulsion to immediately pull the plug out and get his dick in there - fuck him into the floor: he _ached_ to fuck him. He squeezed his handprints onto Hannibal’s pinkened bottom, slipped his fingers in and out of the tight elastic on his sock suspenders and ran them up his bare thighs. “Uhh!” He grunted - too turned on to be in control. Forcing his legs to stand he moved away, after landing a sharp slap on each cheek for taunting him.

Leaving Hannibal spanked, plugged, kneeling and exposed, Will went to the bathroom to wash his face and attempt to recover his control. He took out his phone and opened the app, glad that he’d had the good sense to already charge and pair the toy. He held open the door, leaned against the frame and one-handedly slid the control to ‘sound activated’ with a smile.

“Are you ready Hannibal?” he asked, lips nearly touching the microphone.

“Uhhhhhmmmm!” Hannibal gasped.

\--------------

It grew dark, Hannibal was busy preparing the house and staff, Will had nothing to do but grow more and more anxious about the socialising he had in store. He had taken his time to get ready - a long bath with the expensive Penhaligon’s Halfeti bath oil and soap that Hannibal had chosen for him, a top up on his shave, a bit of a lazily unfinished wank to the thoughts of Hannibal enduring the vibrating plug on his knees. He made sure his hair was slicked back tight with pomade in front of the mirror and began to feel more like the other person he had become, the final transformation completed by the freshly cleaned suit - his reflection looked back confidently from somewhere in the nineteen twenties.

Peeping into the hallway he decided to take his book into the ‘Gold Room’ to acclimatise to the arriving guests rather than make a big entrance from upstairs, greeting Jane and a few other familiar faces as they passed by in their vintage hotel uniforms - Jane nearly bumped into the housekeeper as she swivelled her head to stare.

Hannibal looked up from the buffet table as Will strolled into the room between the bustling hired staff - he smelled as divine as he looked, Hannibal congratulated himself on the choice of fragrance as he approached. “Good evening Mr Graham. it's good to see you.”

Will smiled. “lt's good to be back-- _Lloyd_. Hannibal, your costume is perfect!”

Hannibal beamed, Dressed immaculately as the bartender in his handmade dark red jacket with silk lapels. Will gestured at his own untied bow tie. Hannibal took hold of the ends just as a hired waiter approached them to ask about bin bags. Hannibal gave him directions to the store cupboard without looking away from deftly tying the bow beneath Mr Graham’s beautiful face.

“Would you actually like a bourbon on the rocks Sir?”

Will laughed. “Yeah - hair of the dog that bit me? Is it?”

“Yes Sir.” Hannibal laughed back. They walked together to the bar - the exact Shining bar, both quite giddy with the thrill of it. Hannibal prepared the drink and with perfect timing the band at the back of the hall began to start with a relaxed twenties piece. “No charge to you, Mr Graham,” he said as he slid it over.

Will gazed at him with bright eyes. “Man I’m glad you went for Lloyd and not whatshisname.”

“Delbert Grady?”

Will pointed. “That’s the one. I mean, I know he’s more of a butler but he’s not - you know?” Will gestured at Hannibal’s figure as he took a sip and they both laughed.

A handful of guests had arrived. Will ignored them, the staff seemed to be dealing very competently with the coats and invitations, champagne and rum punch. Most people seemed to have happily embraced the theme in expensive looking beaded dresses and tuxedos - they were craning their necks looking for their host.

“Did you add that extra piece of costume yet?” Will asked, taking out his cell phone and placing it on the bar.

Hannibal’s cheeks became pink. “Yes Sir. And I had it on charge all afternoon.”

“Is it ok to, to you know, walk around in?” Will whispered with a look of mischief.

“It’s fine Sir,” Hannibal replied. “It makes me very... sensitive but I think I’ve got used to it.”

\-------

The room began to fill. Hannibal was busy serving drinks with the other bartender and Will became occupied with polite society and their polite conversations. They were eager but friendly enough and he found that he didn’t mind the situation too much, it was a much better way to meet them all, just sitting tipsy at a movie bar in his own place getting it all out of the way in one go. He also got to enjoy watching his butler gracefully serving drinks with an encyclopedic knowledge of cocktails and measures, a slightly stiffer than normal posture but nothing noticeable to anyone other than Will, who also noticed the weighted bulge in the front of his tight black pants below the silk cumberbund.

Will tried their first _field test_ when he got a free moment, with careful timing he slid the level up from zero on his phone, just as Hannibal stretched for a bottle of tequila from the top of the mirrored shelves. Hannibal froze on his tiptoes, arm in the air, bottom clenched. He closed his eyes through the pulse of vibration and opened them directly at Will’s reflection, Will bit his bottom lip and slid his fingertip very slowly back to zero with a rush of something he vaguely identified as _power_. He zapped him again when he was adding ice to the glass - Hannibal dropped the tongs in the ice bucket with a clatter. Will ramped it up high as Hannibal handed the drink over to a smiling woman in too much makeup. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it,” she said as he handed her the shaking glass. Hannibal realised with relief that she’d been referring to his bartending only as she left. He glanced at Mr Graham who looked delighted as he pushed his empty glass forward.

“You’re very good at this Hannibal,” Will said, leaning over the bar, one hand underneath as Hannibal poured his drink. “You are doing such a good job for me. _So good_!” Hannibal gasped as Will kept him on maximum pulsing vibration. “How are you finding it? Tell me.”

“Sir–” Hannibal breathed, leaning on the counter. He let out a little pleading moan.

“Tell me how you’re finding it,” Will demanded. “And it might get easier.”

“I’m _enjoying_ it Sir,” Hannibal said, he was lit from beneath, facing Will with black dilated pupils and a dark look of pure need from somewhere deep within.

“Too right you fucking are,” whispered Will as he sat back down and turned off the toy.

Hannibal was shockingly beautiful.

———

The food table was constantly surrounded with a shuffling queue of guests - their costumes sparkling beneath the lights, golden plates heaped high with delicious smoked delicacies and Hannibal’s luxury morsels. There was plenty of talk about how this might well be _the_ ball of the season.

All that remained was the auction and dancing. Will had invited a local auctioneer and nominated a nearby library as the beneficiary, the lots were made up of the higher quality items of his uncle’s that he didn’t particularly want: paintings, sculptures, a few antiques.

The band stopped for a break and the auction was announced. Will made a quick almost rallying speech at the podium to an eager and largely drunken crowd before conferring with the auctioneer and nodding at Hannibal to display the first lot on the stage: a mid-century oil painting of a racehorse. Hannibal carefully wheeled out the trolly and stood very upright next to it, legs together, he flicked a a puzzled glance at Will who had positioned himself near to the microphone.

There was a flurry of bids and yelling from the guests, the crowd keen to prove just how wealthy and caring they were. At the hammer the auctioneer moved aside for Will to have the privilege of shouting, “ **SOLD**!” into the mic, a look of childlike fun on his face, his cell phone clutched in one hand.

Hannibal’s surprised swearing was lost amongst the noise of the room as the remote controlled butt plug _vroomed_ into life, out of sight and up his ass. Will had pre-programmed a trigger word to set off a twenty second sequence of intense bursts and it couldn’t have worked out better.

Hannibal felt humiliated and vulnerable getting publicly, intimately stimulated on the stage - it was magnificent. _What a filthy mind Mr Graham had!_

Will was watching Hannibal, eyes twinkling, fingers on his lips like a naughty boy. To his utter delight, Hannibal curled his lip and licked a fang at him.

The next lot was wheeled out. Hannibal lifted a sheet to reveal a large stone head. This was a swift sale of three hundred pounds. “ **SOLD**!” yelled Will. Hannibal discretely clung to the trolly. Next round, a popular antique bicycle gave Hannibal a bit of a breather before, “ **SOLD**!” And he was vibrating again. Another quickie and: “ **SOLD**!” He was getting hits too fast now, it felt too good. “ **SOLD**! - **SOLD**!”

“Fffffuck…” Hannibal moaned behind the applause.

“ **SOLD**! - **SOLD**! - **SOLD**!” Hannibal was on the sharp edge of terrified and orgasmic. He threw Will a look from behind a large antique mirror that had thankfully proved quite popular. Will took the opportunity of the bidding war to step up next to Hannibal, hidden from the waist down he cupped Hannibal’s rock hard cock whilst pretending to scan the crowd.

That was the final straw. “May I be excused Sir?” Hannibal hissed and hurried off without waiting for an answer.

“ **SOLD**!” Will shouted while he was still within range. Hannibal bent down and clutched his elbows as he walked. Will grabbed a cardboard box and followed after him trying to look official - leaving the auctioneer to it. Walking stealthily behind Hannibal he followed that snug red jacket through the hallways and the secret servant’s doorway to the kitchen and into the cool, still air of the large walk-in pantry. Hannibal spun round, flushed beneath a sheen of sweat he gave an almost hysterical giggle.

“I **hope** that you weren’t just about to come in your pants Hannibal! In front of all my guests!” Will said sternly.

Hannibal bit his lip. “I’m sorry Sir. I had to leave. I didn’t though,” he replied.

“I’m ever so _strict_ about how my _servants_ behave in my house.”

“Yes Mr Graham.” Hannibal backed up into the rows of precisely stacked shelves.

“ **Turn around**.”

Turning his back, Hannibal faced the shelves, he heard the heavy door getting wedged closed with the iron doorstop - there was a menacing screech of metal on tiles.

“Take your pants off, bend over and open your legs,” Will whispered as quietly as he could into Hannibal’s ear, purposely allowing his lips to touch the soft skin there.

Hannibal shivered at the order, silently stepped out of his trousers and hung them from an empty meat hook. He leaned over onto a shelf and placed his legs wide apart.

Pleased at the perfect compliance, Will allowed a few long seconds of quiet. He could just make out the muffled sound of the auction PA system from deep in the house, the distant applause of the guests.

Hannibal waited in trepidation - bare legs strapped up in black sock suspenders below the knee, black, patent leather shoes, his red coat tails covering his naked bottom.

Suddenly, Will swiped the coat tails out of the way in a swish of fabric. He placed his hands on Hannibal’s hips and drew him further away from the shelving, dipping his hand into the small of his back - making him deepen the bend and grab onto a lower shelf for balance. Will stepped back for a look. The squared black rubber end of the toy looked so sordid, so big! He was very pleased with it - very pleased with everything. He slapped at Hannibal’s inner thigh, below his balls. “ **Wider**! And get up on your toes!”

Hannibal’s legs stepped wider apart and his calf muscles flexed as he rose up on his toes. He waited, eventually Will placed the phone on the shelf in front of him. “Now, you are going to count to six for me, into this” he said very softly. “And... do. _Not_. Come!”

Hannibal swallowed audibly. Took a deep breath and exhaled a loose flex into his body.

He closed his eyes. “One!” he said into the phone.

The toy buzzed hard- deep up his ass as SMAAAK! Will simultaneously spanked him open handed on his presented bottom. He felt the power of it all through his body.

Hannibal paused, holding his breath before panting it out.

“Two!” He got another delicious stinging spank and fierce internal buzz. His dick was throbbing hard, balls swaying with the impact.

“Three!”

Alternating sides, Will obeyed and Hannibal got another dose.

“Four!” Will threw a bit more spin into it and lifted the cheek beautifully as the plug buzzed inside.

Hannibal was sweating despite the cool temperature. He was fighting each new urge to climax with all his will, the pain on the outside was a sharp and perfect accompaniment to the glorious feel of the vibrator up his ass, so perfectly positioned to stimulate him.

He swallowed. “Five!” - SMAAAK! He had to tense himself very carefully, the toy felt so good and his skin was searing - he felt himself begin to give in to the wave of pleasure.

Will pulled down on Hannibal balls in a slow, controlled grip. “No!” He commanded in a hushed voice. Hannibal moaned into his arm.

“Give me it Hannibal. What’s next”

“Six Sir!”

Will swung a spank up from underneath, so hard that it pushed Hannibal forward. He took hold of the vibrating plug, easing it out and in and then all the way out, holding it still at the widest point as it went off - shiny with oozing lube - leaving some gathered there, glistening around Hannibal’s open hole - the red rounded ass pushed up towards him. Will unzipped and dropped his trousers and underwear - his dick pointing hard at what it wanted.

The orchestra and singer started up in the main hall, the muffled lines of _Midnight The Stars and You_ echoed through the corridors.

“I’m going to **fuck** you Hannibal.”

“Yes Sir.”

The single bulb flickered - plunging the pantry into darkness and light, darkness and light, it stayed lit - illuminating their half nudity, both still very formally dressed from the waist up - bow ties, crisp white shirts and dark jackets, slightly ruffled slicked back hair. Hannibal felt Mr Graham put both hands on each side of his stinging bottom and maneuver his hard cock into him hands-free in one breathtakingly slick, relentless stretch and slide - filling his empty hole so full of hot dick that he felt the precome squeeze out of him and drip onto the tiles.

They both panted and stilled before thudding up to speed - perfectly in tune as the thrusts began to pound.

Hannibal kept his dutiful position, head and shoulders lowered - braced for the fucking he was receiving from Mr Graham - his legs stretched wide, balanced on his toes, his back bent as much as he could, shoulder blades down to present the best line. He could hardly take much more without climaxing but concentrating on maintaining his stance helped keep it back. The demonstration of pure ownership from Mr Graham, the taking, the wanting, needing, balls smacking into his stinging skin with every pounding swing as he poked his cock into him deeper and harder was all he wanted.

Will’s jacket tails were twisted round, obscuring his view - he swept them back with one arm and kept it behind his back to pin the fabric there, affording him the lewd sight of his dick ramming into his semi-butler’s spanked bare behind, wantonly offered up for him to take as he pleased after all that teasing - _what a show._

Hannibal looked over his shoulder at Will pounding into him - a look of sultry concentration on his face, one arm behind his back, sweating and flushed. Hannibal grinned at him - Will responded by slapping him on the hot skin of his ass - and then again for moaning. It was too much - Hannibal couldn’t hold back. “I’m going to— Sir I’m going to…”

“Gimmethatdick,” Will slurred and laid Hannibal’s heavy erection along his own palm. He pointed it downwards with his thumb - not stimulating it: just feeling it as if it were part of him, like his own stiff dick started far back inside from behind his balls, ran exquisitely all the way through Hannibal and stuck out into his hand at the front - one endless length of hard shaft to glide their bodies on. Will began to simultaneously experience their connection from Hannibal’s point of view, his stretched hole, the pleasure in being filled, the pounding force rubbing into his sweet spot deep inside, over and over, the penetration stimulating his practically ignored dick, the hot sting of his skin, the submissive position, _the service_!

Will felt like he was fucking himself getting fucked, he lost all rational thoughts to an echo chamber of stimulation, welcoming the thick draw of pleasure crawling up his thighs and between his legs, gathering more weight from from deep inside and bursting out in an blindly unfurling orgasm that pumped into Hannibal and flowed through his body and pulsed out through the solid cock underneath, splatting luminous white on the tiles.

“Fuuuuuck Hannibal. Fuck!” Will gasped.

“MmmmmmmmMr Graham…”

They stayed connected, breathing heavily together. Will’s hand squeezing, milking the solid flesh of Hannibal’s spent cock almost absent minded, partly to enjoy the feel of that thing and partly for the vague idea somewhere in the back of his mind that it would be an overstimulation that Hannibal would just endure.

Hannibal laughed and squirmed, Will laughed too. “Alright?” he asked.

“Yes thank you.” Hannibal said. “ Are we to assume that you’ve _corrected_ me now Sir?”

“Oh _shhhhit_! Don’t.” Will said getting a sudden flush of lust.

Hannibal felt his dick twitch from inside his ass. “You know _you_ turned into the semi-butler for a moment there?”

“I what?”

“The move with one arm behind your back Sir - I believe it is known as a _Semi-butler_?” Hannibal laughed.

Will slipped himself out with a snort. “Right, okay - I guess I did - I saw that something amused you.” He watched a silky trail of his semen drip from Hannibal’s hole and down the top of his thigh, he gathered it over his hand - sticky on his fingertips - drew his arm back and landed a cruel spank on Hannibal’s ass cheek. “Clean this pantry up!” He said, then trailed a finger teasingly over his flushed curve and down underneath to fondle him. “And then sneak off upstairs with me. I feel like taking a bath - _you_?”

Hannibal turned, leaning back exhausted on the shelves, he smiled. “Yes Sir.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [@Zigzagwanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigzagwanderer/pseuds/Zigzagwanderer/works) for the brilliant idea of auction announcement activated buzzing :)
> 
> I must mention an excellent fic involving forniphilia by drinkbloodlikewine and whiskeyandspite, [Utility and Usefulness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280288) \- it's James Bond and Q

**Author's Note:**

> Here is this post on my [Tumblr](https://theseavoices.tumblr.com/post/185454176836/semi-butler) \- any reblogs would be very fantastic :)


End file.
